


burned out star

by pumpkinpickles



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Canon Rewrite, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Family Issues, Hurt, Loss, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Other, Spoilers, Unresolved Tension, its not a fun time sorry lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpickles/pseuds/pumpkinpickles
Summary: Happy endings always come with a price. Lucette is only just beginning to realise that this one might have a price too steep for her to pay.(Bad Ending for 'moonlight is but reflected sun', a Fritz route rewrite. Can be read as a standalone)





	burned out star

**Author's Note:**

> An exploration into a more realistic 'what if' scenario where Fritz loses Varg, and essentially loses a part of himself. Most of the material is based off my original Fritz route rewrite fic that you can also find on my ao3. It's meant to complement it as a Bad Ending, but can be read as a standalone fic for the most part.
> 
> It diverges from the original fic near the end of Chapter 8 when Fritz confronts Varg, but loses him instead of coming to an understanding with him. 
> 
> This took way more effort and time then I thought necessary and may not be the best bc I did it in between school work, but I hope you enjoy it ! It was a lot of fun creating this fic and wondering about Fritz's family. 
> 
> Also if u finish this leave a comment to tell me what u thought slow winks. (and im sorry in advance lol)

* * *

 

 

"Princess."

Lucette hears it, again, the wisps of a coarser tenor in her knight's voice. But when she turns, all that meets her eyes is silver strands and an aching sense of loss the man himself doesn't understand in his golden eyes.

"Yes, Fritz?"

"It's about time to leave."

The gentle smile on his face holds true, still.

But a deeper shadow carves itself in its light, in its brilliance.

It makes Lucette ache, brewing and hollow.

"I'll be right there."

Walking alongside Fritz, force of habit nearly has her curling a hand around her knight's own.

But she catches herself just in time, clenches her fist and revels in the pain that digs into her palm.

The castle corridors are quick to give away to the front courtyard, then the castle gates.

Soon, Lucette finds herself amongst throngs of people, the clattering noise of a town at noon.

No one would believe that this was a country recently freed from the tyrannous rule of a witch, Lucette thinks.

Unfurling her hand, Lucette allows herself to drown in the raucous, melding conversations from beneath her hood.

Fritz walks a ways in front of her, constantly pausing to throw a smile or wave to someone he recognises.

Lucette feels her heart surge, thinks it might actually be a sign that he _remembers_ -.

Then she spies the glimmer of uncertainty in his eye, the uncomfortable twist to his smile, and her hopes are dashed as quickly as they are raised.

Staring at Fritz's broad back, Lucette thinks if she reached out she just might catch a cloak not unlike the one wrapped around her shoulder in her hand, all velvet and harsh black.

Tug it hard, so the person would stay, so she could pull her face to his and scream _'why, why did you leave us, why did you **go** , do you know what you have **done**?'_

But the sun bleaches Fritz's uniform a pure, unflinching white, so all Lucette does is turn her head and pretend the burning of her eyes is from the reflection of sun off shop windows.

Funny, Lucette had thought she'd be happier in the aftermath of the rebellion.

Lucette had also thought, once, that she'd be happier without the presence of Varg.

The grass really did grow greener on the other side of the field, didn't it?

Eventually as the reach the edge of the town centre, the crowd begins to thin out and a homely inn Lucette has come to see as a second home comes to sight.

Fritz politely stands to a side to allow Lucette to open the door, the bell twinkling overhead.

"Your High- Lucette!"

Annice is the first to spot Lucette's arrival, face lighting up and immediately discarding the dust cloth in her hands in lieu of rushing to the shop front to welcome Lucette.

Despite her gloomy mood, Lucette feels her lips tug into a smile as she pulls her hood off.

"Annice." Lucette greets with a nod. "It's been a while."

"It has. I'm glad you could make it today. I know it's been awfully busy in the palace, lately." Annice says, lacing her hands together nervously.

Busy was a light way of putting it.

The place was practically hectic, with ministers and advisors running amok trying to salvage the damage done to both the physical infrastructure of the palace and metaphorical infrastructure of the King's command, in the wake of Hildyr, Alcaster and Mythros.

At least Lucette was spared from most discussions, political or otherwise.

People still did not take well to the Witch Queen's daughter, it seemed. Not even after she saved all of them.

In the past, Lucette would have been furious. Now, she's simply glad for the time it offers for her to handle more important matters at hand.

"I'm sure they appreciate my lack of presence; I like them tip toeing around me as much as they do." Lucette says. "Besides…"

Lucette glances at Fritz behind her. He seems to hesitate, but gives her a tentative nod before walking towards the stairs leading to the boarder's dwellings.

Annice's frown grows as her eyes follow Fritz's path, but Lucette is quick to avoid the question in her eyes gesturing to a secluded table in the dining area.

"Let's take a seat. I'm sure Waltz and Fritz will be some time."

"You're not following him?" Annice asks.

Lucette's gaze stays on the stairs longer than need be as she reluctantly shakes her head.

As they settle down across one another, Lucette notices that the resident doctor and undercover prince is nowhere to be seen.

 _'Errands, possibly,'_ Lucette thinks mundanely, trying to occupy her mind with anything, something, before Annice's inevitable question lands, to drag her back to bitter reality.

"...Is Sir Fritzgerald's memory is still impaired?" Annice questions, and Lucette closes her eyes.

It's a bad habit, she knows, to physically try to shut out the world when something difficult is presented before her.

But she thinks she's owed those few seconds of darkness and silence, if only to withstand the many other hours of the day.

"Yes." Lucette opens her eyes, her hands clasped tightly over themselves on the table. It brings mild relief that Annice just looks passively sad.

The last thing Lucette needed, _wanted_ , was pity.

The situation was confounding, ridiculous, but not pitiable.

Lucette refused to acknowledge it as such.

At first, when Varg robbed them of his existence, all that had been left was guilt, pain, and Fritz.

Then Fritz began forgetting.

Slowly, the people around him grew foreign and hazy in his mind's eye.

Townsfolk Fritz had grown up alongside. The Order of Caldria. Even Genaro.

What were once whole people were now fractures of memories, words and phrases. He still knew who they were. He just couldn't remember what they meant to him. Why their voices distorted in every replay, why their faces blurred and marred in his mind.

Standalone, everything appeared minor; simple moments in the past too old to be clearly recalled.

Fritz would clutch his head, and joke about how his age _must_ be affecting him, it's nothing to worry about, princess.

Then one day, while on his weekly visit to Alcaster in the castle prison, Fritz had stared blankly at the tray of food in his hands and asked Lucette most innocently, "Why am I doing this?".

Lucette still remembers her breath stopping, her hands reaching out to Fritz's face, his vacant expression.

She still remembers the way Fritz had flinched back.

Now, with Varg gone and Fritz slowly disappearing, all that was left was guilt and pain.

And Lucette didn't _understand_.

The curse was broken. Fritz was rid of all his evils. All his inner demons.

They were supposed to be _happy_.

So why did his smiles seem so much more faded than ever before?

Suddenly, a pair of hands are overlapping over Lucette's own, squeezing them tight.

"If it's to do with the curse, I'm sure Waltz will find a solution." Annice says, comforting. "He _is_ Angielle's best witch."

"Delora will have your head for that." Lucette murmurs, forcing herself back into the present moment.

Forcing herself to believe in the warmth of the hands currently over her own.

"Did I hear my name, princess?"

Delora's elegant drawl alerts them of the witch descending the stairs, a mischievous grin directed at Lucette as she makes her way towards their table.

"Speak of the devil." Lucette says as Delora sits beside her.

"How rude." Delora raises a brow, crossing her arms. "Have you been fine?"

"As fine as I can be." Lucette replies quietly.

She knows this period of grieving must be hard on Delora, too.

She hadn't been the only one to lose someone she loved, after all.

Even now, Lucette still expects to hear Parfait's gentle chide for Delora to not be so mean.

But all that follows is swollen silence.

Delora pinpricks it with a loud sigh.

"Look at all of us. You'd think we would be celebrating after all that happened."

 _'The town certainly is',_ Lucette thinks, staring out the window ahead of her, at the colourful banners imprinted with the royal insignia billowing outside, catching wind and confetti with every flap.

How ironic that the very people who saved the country were the only ones refrained from the happiness that followed.

"Life works in mysterious ways." Lucette says flatly.

Once, Lucette would have thought of unfairness and cruel punishing anger.

But the warmth of Fritz's hands that clasped hers in the forest still lingers, as fresh as his words that had taught her kindness and love.

Of how hurt can never be love, and cruelty can never heal a broken heart.

So Lucette bandages her pain with his lessons, and turns away from the window.

"But it's odd." Delora angles a hard stare in the direction of the stairs. "The Fairy Tale curse has no residual effects. I've been researching it enough to know."

"What?"

Sudden cold dread intensifies in Lucette's veins.

She feels compelled to push herself out of her chair and collapse to the floor all at once, the urge to rush to Fritz fighting against the pit of despair that's opened beneath her feet.

"You mean Waltz can't -."

Lucette cannot even bring herself to finish her sentence.

Delora presses a fist to her lips, her features contorting with sudden regret.

Waltz had been her last hope, but if not even Delora could pinpoint the issue, then Fritz would -.

"But Rumpel might."

Lucette turns to a very startled looking Annice. She appears to have recalled something, eyes wide, and hands tightening ever harder over Lucette's.

The pain is a hopeful sort, nothing like the grieving half moons indented in her palms.

"How." Lucette demands.

"It could be something to do with his psychological state." Annice quickly says.

Annice's eyes are alive and bright, and it reminds Lucette of the way Annice had held her, had spoken to her after leaving the forest, newly returned to the world that hadn't wanted her.

"I've heard that the shock of an accident can cause memory loss. Or anything that has a heavy impact on one's mind, really." Annice hesitates. "And the removal of his curse could be it, right?"

"It might." Delora says, contemplating. "It certainly explains why the effects took so long to so manifest. Usually curses are quick to act, but the mind can be unpredictable in events of trauma."

"I do not care for the specifics of psychology." Lucette says, more irritatedly than she thought she was. "I just want to know how to cure Fritz."

"If I remember correctly from a medical journal I read, temporary amnesia from trauma can be reverted with time, or memory triggers. Anything from a smell, a sound, or a picture." Annice lists, a tight smile on her face.

"A picture." Lucette echoes.

The first thing that comes to her mind is white against green; Fritz's profile against lush overhangs and dark woods, his glass-like voice mirroring his fragile expression, the tender, aching way he'd spoken of his mother.

He had looked so unnervingly beautiful in the sun, then.

Something precious yet unwanted of the pain that the sun reflected in his golden eyes.

_'She loved so much.'_

It's an odd choice. An odd memory to fixate on, to believe in.

Fritz has never spoken to Lucette about his family since then.

Fritz has never smiled without a second thought since then, either.

There's many, many things Fritz has begun forgetting.

But Lucette wants to believe that the love he's harboured and nurtured since a child is not one of them.

Lucette wonders if that love could cure. If that love could for once, save Fritz.

If for once, a memory's pain could be used to heal, once understood.

"Hm. Seems like you've got a plan." Delora faces Lucette, a gentle hand settling on her head, as if the princess was a precocious child.

And perhaps that's what she was, in Delora's eyes.

Somehow, Lucette doesn't find herself minding that.

The witch looks deeply into Lucette's eyes, and Lucette finds gentle confidence and soft pride within.

"Good luck."

Lucette nods.

Ever since the day she ran away from her makeshift prison, Lucette had decided to be the one saving her knight.

She would not stop now, not when she knows her happy ending is simply waiting for her to grasp it.

 

* * *

 

Lucette stands before grand oak double doors, and takes a deep breath before raising her hand to knock loudly, twice.

Her knocks do not hesitate, not like the millions of stuttering speeches running a mile a minute through her head.

"Come in."

Genaro's eyes widen as Lucette steps through the doors to his study.

She isn't thrown off by his surprise at all.

It's been years since Lucette had actively seeked out her father's company, after all.

He immediately puts down his quill, rising from his chair.

"Lucette." Genaro says, shocked. He fumbles for a moment, losing all grace of a king before his daughter.

Eventually, he decides on a faux cough to ease the awkward tension, motioning to the chair opposite his desk.

"Please, take a seat." Genaro says, tha incredulous note in his eyes translating to his words.

Lucette does, and Genaro finally smiles, relieved.

He takes a seat himself, leaning forward with his hands twined before him.

"I apologise, I have nothing to eat or drink to offer. But what can I do for you?" Genaro asks.

Lucette could laugh in the face of Genaro's eagerness to please. Just months ago it would have been wariness.

But it's a pained, understanding sort of joy, that comes with growing and learning that parents are just as human as anyone else.

That comes with learning her heritage, and what it truly meant to be Hildyr's child.

Lucette had struggled with coming to her father. If possible, she would have liked to solve the issue without confronting him at all.

There were still so many cracks in their relationship, and it seemed wrong, somehow, to simply ignore it all and head straight for an undeserved resolution.

 _'Deja vu'_ , Lucette belatedly thinks, remembering the pain of Fritz's hands on her shoulders, the crushing loneliness of barely a word exchanged for three whole days.

Yet this time, Lucette thinks it's alright. This is not a relationship she thinks she wants to salvage, after all.

This is just an exchange - self satisfaction for her father, information for Lucette.

Something twisted tells her she'll like it better this way in the long run.

"I came to ask about Fritz's mother." Lucette says.

Annice had said a picture would suffice, and Lucette knew of no one else who might possess one.

Lucette also knew of no one who would be as willing to tell her the secrets of Fritz's past he might no longer be able to.

Guilt gnaws at her for using such underhanded methods, but Lucette would gladly do so if it meant saving Fritz.

It startles her, ever so slightly, how easily slyness comes to her.

But if it is for the sake of another so dear, Lucette cannot see why it is wrong.

Genaro blinks quietly. He stills, and his expression falls.

Lucette would almost believe it to be a silent admission that he knows nothing, if not for the slight smile still on Genaro's face.

It isn't dejection or sadness, no.

Rather, it's a melancholic bittersweetness that comes with lost youth and the aches of adulthood.

"Beatrice Campanula." Genaro finally says, the name sweet and kindly uttered. "She was a good woman. But why the sudden interest?"

Lucette doesn't answer.

She does not know how much Genaro has heard, how much he knows.

How much she wants to let him know, how much of her heart she wants to bear to the one person who had rejected it all those years ago.

He was not wrong to have done so, but not right either.

And in the conflict, Lucette comes to a standstill.

With her silence, Genaro seems to understand, for all he does is smile weakly and continue.

"Allow me to change my question. What would you like to know?"

"Everything." Is Lucette's immediate answer.

She came for a picture, but the way Genaro had stopped, the way his smile had folded in on itself so carefully eggs Lucette on for an explanation, for the woman who was capable of such deep love that everyone who knew of it had hurt for it.

Genaro softly chuckles.

His gaze grows distant, remembering.

"Beatrice was a seamstress," Genaro starts, "with an exceptional gift with the needle. Back when her skills were for hire, she was the talk of the town. Even us royals would hear about her - in fact, i'm sure she's made quite a few gowns for some ladies-in-waiting. I would hear people speak of her immense skill and quiet beauty like a bud on the cusp of bloom.

"I have only ever met her once, back when I was a prince. She had just gotten engaged with Alcaster, then. I met them in one of the many corridors of the castle, and I knew instantly why someone like Alcaster could have fallen in love. Beatrice was beautiful, yes, but what struck me was her kindness."

Genaro chuckles, and there's still a lilt of joy as he speaks of it, even after all that's transpired.

"A young soldier had tripped and ripped the outer skirts of her dress in a fall, you see. Alcaster had been furious since, if i recall correctly, it was new tailor made dress by one of the finest dressmakers in town. He would have had the poor thing immediately discharged, if not for Beatrice.

"She put a hand on Alcaster, and actually silenced that man. And afterwards, all she did was tell the boy to get more sleep. His eye bags were some of the worse she had seen, she said. It wouldn't do if he ended up hurting himself or someone much more seriously because of a lack of attention to his health. Dresses could be fixed, but an impaired health could not.

"It was no wonder to me, all of a sudden, how grumpy old Alcaster could have fallen for her. She was marvelous not just with a needle, but even more so for the care she treated the world around her."

Genaro looks down at his hands, a forlorn smile still stuck on his face. "Beatrice was a woman who could calm even the noisiest babe, and loved even the tiniest bug, in spite of the poor odds life had dealt her with. But despite it all, they made it work. And the way she looked at Alcaster, the way he would look back at her….It was enough to make anyone believe in a fairy tale romance. "

Lucette must not have hidden the shock on her face very well, as Genaro's smile stretches into a grin at her owlish stare.

"It may be hard to believe, but Alcaster was quite infatuated with her, you know. I heard of her long before I even knew of her name because of him. I know firsthand how even while climbing the ranks as a soldier, Alcaster would never fail to pay her a visit every day at her shop. People gossiped, but Alcaster never cared. Beatrice was a very special woman, to have been able to convince even that stubborn man to bend the rules for her.

"...It was a pity that it could not last."

Genaro stands quietly, moving towards one of his many bookshelves. Running a finger along the spines of the books, he pulls out a weathered journal near the upper corner.

Opening it, Genaro pauses, staring at the page with a smile too tender to be happy.

He slips out an old photograph, walking over to Lucette to hand it to her.

Taking it, Lucette smooths a gentle hand over the photo.

A much younger Alcaster wears a content smile, clad in the familiar uniform of a knight. Beside him, a lady with long white hair curling at her waist stands, dressed in a simple lavender gown. She smiles shyly, clearly not used to the camera. But still her bright ruby eyes are trained on the lens, unavoidant and strong.

 _'Beatrice.'_ Lucette instantly thinks, knows.

After all, Fritz used to look the exact same way at her.

"Alcaster told me before, to put this in his coffin if the War ever claimed his life."

Genaro looks away, eyes sunken and grieved, voice low and heavy for the friend he had lost not in body but in spirit.

Lucette realises then, that to die isn't always limited to one form.

She wonders if she'd already known, but the parallel between father and son was what it took for her to confront it.

Then, would she too -.

Unthinking, Lucette's fingers tighten over the photo.

"May I keep this?" Lucette asks, before she loses the nerve to speak at all.

Genaro gives the photo one last, sad glance.

"If you so wish. It will no longer be able to serve its purpose, after all." Genaro says softly. "And I am sure you will be able to put it to much better use than I ever could."

Gazing at her father, Lucette doesn't know what to say.

Not when she can see herself in his image too, soon to be mourning and regretful.

Lucette swallows down the ice stuck in her throat, chilling her words and thoughts.

"I'll keep it safe." Lucette says as she stands. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I could help."

With that, Lucette tears her eyes from her father's sorrowful figure, and tries not to think of apples and trees and how her instincts have always been right on the things she never wants it to be.

But she can't, so if she closes the door a little harder than necessary she thinks she can hardly be blamed.

Not when her hands are shaking so badly she can barely feel the metal knob.

 

* * *

 

Leaving Genaro's study, Lucette isn't quite sure where she wants to go.

She thinks of finding Fritz, but the pounding in her head tells her perhaps not.

Lucette isn't sure what she'll say to him. What her facial features will betray.

What he'll see in her downcast eyes; what he won't.

Trapped within her whirling thoughts, Lucette finds her feet leading away from the centre of the palace, towards the back courtyard where a massive garden labyrinth sits familiar.

Desperate, for an escape, for another brief glimpse of memory of lush green and golden sun, Lucette enters.

The maze has warped even further since her last visit.

Lucette thinks there could be an ironic metaphor in that, but she's far too tired to try and search for one.

Twisting and turning until she no longer knows where she's heading, Lucette collapses on a stone bench, hands falling uselessly on her lap, cradling the photo.

The gentle smile of the woman should ease Lucette, when it's so heartbreakingly familiar to her knight's own.

But knowing it comes from someone dead, someone whose boundless love brought about devastating ruin - Lucette only feels empty.

 _'Beatrice.'_  Lucette thinks again, the name foreign yet not.

Fritz had spoken of her so fondly, so passively.

Varg had never even mentioned her.

Thinking of the wolf, Lucette's vision blurs.

Oh, how spectacularly his hope to give Lucette and Fritz their happiness had backfired.

What did he expect to have taken away, with his disappearance?

Fritz's negativity? Fritz's pain? Fritz's bad -

Memories…?

There's a sudden rustle, jolting Lucette out of her newfound revelation. She quickly wipes at her eyes, praying it not red. Lucette would keel over instantly if a servant, or worse yet a nosy minister, caught their queen-to-be looking so weak.

But a familiar sword stabs through the hedge, withdrawing quickly as branches loosen and fall, a muttered apology for the plant life heard.

With a gasp, Fritz stumbles from the grasp of the overgrown hedges. Leaves catch in his mussed tresses, uniform rumpled.

Catching Lucette's surprised stare, Fritz straightens himself with an embarrassed smile.

"Princess!" Fritz greets with a beam, dusting his chest off. "There you are. I was searching all over for you."

"Fritz." Lucette acknowledges, pressing a hand over her chest.

It shocks her that she was surprised that Fritz could find her.

Did she expect anything else? Did she think he couldn't, after continuously doing so, for so many times until it was an expectancy, already?

Lucette thinks not. She couldn't have.

Why would she doubt Fritz?

Why would she -.

Fritz settles down next to her, sunspots cast over his figure, casting a glass like glow over his face.

Among the greenery of the labyrinth, nestled in a hidden corner of the world with the sun playing with his features, the angle of Fritz's face makes Lucette think of personas and false kindness, of buried hurt and resurfaced flaws.

Lucette wonders why, unlike the previous time when all she felt was dull pain, now all she feels is a curling, foreboding sense of dread.

"Princess?"

Fritz calls Lucette again, but its less broken then before, less human.

Still, Lucette responds, ignoring the burning behind her eyes.

"I was lost in my thoughts."

"I see." Fritz says. He looks as if he wants to say something further. But no matter how long Lucette waits, he doesn't say anything.

Instead, all Fritz does is offer Lucette a quiet, uncertain smile.

The photo in Lucette's hands captures his attention. His brows furrow, head tilting.

"What's that, princess?"

Lucette unconsciously brings one hand over it. She knows why she went to get the photo, but something tells her it would have been better if she'd forgotten why.

But Lucette can't think of anything else, anything that might bring Fritz back.

That might heal the splinters in his gentle gaze, the bruises in his smile.

So she silently holds the photograph up, armed with nothing but tasteless hope.

"It's a photo of -." Lucette takes a breath. Now or never. "Of your parents."

There's a beat of silence. And then another.

Fritz stares blankly at the picture. A hand rising to hesitantly take it from Lucette, with a frown tugging on the corners of his lips.

His lips part mutedly, eyes fixed and unflinching.

"Mother?" Fritz tries, the haze of _something_ overcoming his features, cracking his frown into a grimace.

"Do you remember them?" Lucette braves, leaning towards the man.

"I do." Fritz says, but his words are too numb to kindle any hope Lucette has.

She thinks she's worded her question wrongly. After all, it wasn't a matter of remembrance, but rather what he remembered.

Before his puzzlement, Lucette wishes she could pray that what he remembers are happier times. Yet she knows for a fact that that isn't what her ego is trying to bring back.

That that isn't what will bring back the spark in Fritz's eye.

"So my father could smile like this."

Fritz's low voice breaks the quiet, startles Lucette into turning to him.

Fritz is staring intently at the photograph, a small smile gracing his features.

It's one of aching relief, of overwhelming loss.

"I was surprised too." Lucette says, leaning over to take another look at the picture.

"He must be a very strict man. He barely even exchanges a word with me, when I visit." Fritz admits, sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

The fact sours Lucette's opinion of Alcaster even further. Didn't he realise what a blessing it was that Fritz was even given permission to visit? Or that he was even still held in Angielle, for that matter?

Typically, someone who had committed treason of such high offense would have been dealt with immediately. But in the aftermath of Hildyr's rule, there was hardly any time able to be spared on the ex-head knight.

Still, Lucette has no doubt that the ruling would be exile, given Angielle's long overwritten punishment of death.

Lucette would wonder why Alcaster didn't treasure his time with Fritz more, if not for the fact that she already knew why.

A pang of hurt strikes Lucette's heart at the memory of Fritz retelling his past, his faded smile, the awful way his lower lip had trembled.

Back then, she had longed to kiss it still.

She still does.

But the vague shadows of the trees above that drape Fritz's eyes such a dulled hue holds her back.

Lucette wonders when Fritz stopped seeking the sun; when the shadow's cool grasp started to entice his figure more.

"I heard that your mother was a very kind woman." Lucette says, suddenly desperate to change the topic, wanting with all her heart that the lady who was said to possess the light of the sun could urge Fritz to once again seek it, too.

"Was she?" Fritz turns to look at Lucette. For the first time in days, the knit between his brows eases out, the confusion in his face morphing into pure curiousity.

For the first time in days, Lucette feels like she finally recognises Fritz again.

"She was." Lucette confirms. "I heard about her from my father."

Fritz listens rapturously as Lucette relays her father's story.

As Lucette speaks, she watches Fritz carefully. He doesn't interrupt once, and his eyes are bright, almost envious. His expression is one of open awe and confounding loss.

Surrounded by nothing but greenery with just the two of them, telling old tales of the past, Lucette could almost make believe that they were back in the enchanted forest again, revealing raw wounds in order to suture them close with kind words and allow them to heal with time.

But the way Fritz's expression falls flat when she finishes tells her that maybe, this time, some wounds can't heal after all.

Not when the person himself cannot remember what caused them.

"I'm sure, despite everything, that that's where you got your kindness from." Lucette says as she finishes the story. Tentatively, bravely, she reaches out first to overlap her hand with Fritz's.

"Perhaps." Fritz says softly, looking at Lucette with an indecipherable smile. He turns his hand to encompass Lucette's with his own, and gives it a comforting squeeze.

Lucette's heart clenches at the simple act, but she can't help wondering who it was meant to comfort - her, or him.

But still, the way he smiles now is a jarring parallel to Beatrice, if only more slighted.

"You must have been very similar to her." Lucette says, entranced. "You have the same vivid smile."

At that, Fritz touches the corner of his lips. He seems surprised at Lucette's observation.

"Do we?" Fritz asks, smile growing a little lighter, a little more - him.

And it makes Lucette's own lips twitch upwards.

"You do." Lucette says, her other hand coming up to brush against the knuckles of the hand over his cheek. "It's very becoming on you."

Fritz flushes a most pretty red, and Lucette cannot help the smile that grows on her face.

Hidden behind the clouds, the sunshine is a fraction of what it once was, but its still enough to brighten the features of Fritz's face, the shy smile he cannot hide from Lucette.

She spies the teeth imprints on his lower lip, and the ache to kiss it away is one Lucette silences immediately, this time.

Fritz's quiet gasp as Lucette carefully presses her lips to his is quickly swallowed.

It's a feather light kiss, more assuring than tantalizing.

Still, its enough to send Lucette momentarily to cloud nine, even if Fritz isn't holding her as he always used to, when they kissed.

Instead, his hands stay where they are, one grasping the old photograph. The other that's loosely hovering over the side of his face jerks forward, almost touching Lucette's temple, before it slacks, uncertain, longing in a way Lucette had thought Fritz had learnt to not.

When Lucette breaks the kiss, she finds Fritz gazing at her in a manner she cannot recognise. It's gently heartbreaking and pleasantly tame all at once.

And when Fritz finally touches her, the back of his hand just barely brushing against her head, Lucette doesn't know what it means.

Lucette wants to tell Fritz she loves him, but the wavering in his eyes that doesn't clearly spell the same stops her.

"You have something in your hair." Lucette settles on instead.

It's alright. They still have all the time they would need. Lucette tells herself that she is fine with settling for the circumstances, despite the churning in her middle that urges her otherwise.

Slowly, she moves her hand away from Fritz's to pluck a leaf off his head. It must have gotten stuck from his weaving through the labyrinth from before.

Lucette holds it out between them, smiling at the leaf half the size of her palm.

"It's just like before, right?" Lucette says fondly.

"Before?" Fritz repeats with a questioning smile.

The churning in Lucette's middle turns rougher. But Lucette pays it no mind. Does not want to pay it any mind.

Fritz looks away, tilting his head skywards to stare at the bountiful clouds floating pass.

"How do you think my mother was so kind, princess?" Fritz asks.

Lucette offers a shrug, letting go of the leaf. She watches it dance in the wind for a moment, before turning back to Fritz.

"I often ask the same thing myself about you." Lucette says playfully.

Fritz turns back to Lucette, an uncertain gleam in his eye.

"I was...kind." Fritz slowly echoes. It sounds more like a question than a statement.

"You are." Lucette amends. "Do you doubt that?"

Fritz looks at Lucette with slight hesitation. "Lately, I do. I don't know why I behave in certain ways, why I withstand what I am told most would not. But I do. Is that kindness?"

"It is, to an extent." Lucette says softly. "You were always good at restraining yourself for the sake of another. And being undeniably altruistic, even as a knight."

"And that made me kind? Even if I do not know why I behave so?" Fritz seems to curl in on himself as he finishes the sentence.

It's so similar to a much more heart wrenching conversation of undeserved love that it compels Lucette to lean forward and capture both of Fritz's hands with her own, twining their fingers together so tightly it hurts.

"Yes, it does. Just because you cannot remember why you did it, it does not invalidate the inherent goodwill you had when you did it. Do not doubt yourself or your kindness, Fritz. Do not even try to think that you are not someone good." Lucette says, willing herself to sound as strong and convincing as she can.

But who it is she's convincing, Lucette isn't sure either.

There's a momentary pause as Fritz allows Lucette's words to sink in.

"I see." He says, quietly. A tentative smile plants itself on his face.

"I suppose it would be fine then, for me to be as I always am. My actions must mean something, if I keep doing so without even noticing. Even if - if the other isn't always happy to receive it." Fritz slowly says, nodding to himself.

The light of confidence returns to his eyes, his squared shoulders.

"I might be forgetting many, many things, princess. But i'm sure that as long as their lessons still stay with me, I'll be alright."

The strong conviction with which he speaks makes Lucette's heart swell.

"But…" Fritz starts somewhat nervously, offering Lucette a small smile. "I guess...I still do want to find out what it was that made me this way. It feels sort of eerie, you know? To behave a certain way without knowing why, even if they are considered good."

Lucette knows what that means, what shadows they both are seeking for.

Lucette also knows the impracticality, the impossibility of the act, the pain that will come with.

But trapped by Fritz's fragile smile, Lucette cannot find it in her to say no, to tell him the _truth_.

"I understand." Lucette says, even when she feels the farthest thing from understanding right now. "We could always try and find out more about your mother. I haven't heard much of her from you, unfortunately."

Nothing that would be useful to the current Fritz anyway, Lucette secretly keeps to herself.

"Pardon?"

Fritz is staring back at Lucette. Confusion twists his gentle features into a muddy puddle, worsening the sick Lucette feels. "I apologise, princess, but I don't recall ever speaking to you of my mother."

Fritz's words has Lucette staring at him in an entirely different manner of shock.

"You told me of your past with your mother yourself, Fritz." Lucette says. At least she thinks she is. Her mouth is moving, but the voice sounds too strained, too bewildered to be recognisable as her own.

"I have?"

Air constricts itself in Lucette's throat.

Tiny pinpricks of white hot pain stabs Lucette all over her chest, her throat. It makes it hard to speak, to breath.

To look at Fritz in the sun and not see a stranger.

That realisation drives a sharpened knife straight through Lucette's heart.

"You don't - recall?" Lucette asks, willing her words to come out pronounced, and not in tiny little pieces like her heart was turning into.

There was the forest, log rough beneath them, Fritz's hands warm in her own. There was Fritz's ripped apart smile, trembling lower lip and unconsolable pain. There was secrets spilled from the gaping hurt Fritz gouged himself in his heart, of cruel love, of protective love, of love that twisted every sense of that word, so much so that Fritz could never feel it without fear of delivering to another himself.

In a sudden, lightning like moment, Lucette remembers what Varg was supposed to represent.

What he was supposed to have taken away, with the erasure of his existence.

There is a garden labyrinth, stone bench smooth beneath them, Fritz's fingers curled over a photo he cannot recognise. There is Fritz's taut smile, wrinkles between his brows, and forgotten pain. There is a past unveiled, an old photograph that details everything yet nothing.

There is Fritz. Nothing more, everything less.

Because Varg took it all.

Everything that hurt him, everything that might ever hurt him again.

Everything Fritz buried deep in his psyche, everything he wanted so badly to forget.

And the only thing remaining is the twisted sense of something gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Something stings the back of Lucette's eyes, makes her want to avert her gaze.

Daybreak. Invulnerable Fritz under the light of the sun, backlit by a campfire.

Her face must be crumpling, for Fritz is looking so, so confused.

The sunset. The faded colours shed by the moon. Varg's goodbyes.

Lucette's smile feels too tight, and when Fritz has her face in his hands, his touch burns her as much as it comforts.

Still, Lucette clutches at his hands, and willingly throws herself into his flames.

"Princess, are you alright?" Fritz asks, clearly worried.

Lucette wonders if the version of her he sees now, is still as beautiful as the one he had seen in the forest.

"Shall we - go into town tomorrow? And see if we can find out more about your mother?" Lucette manages to say past the knot in her throat, smile holding fast.

Fritz's frown worsens for a moment at Lucette's change of topic, but he eventually sinks into a small smile.

"Only if you wish to."

And Lucette thinks that's not possible, for the only thing she can think of wishing for right in this moment is to dissolve into tears and beg for Fritz to just, _please, remember, remember the person you were and loved, and the 'you' you wanted to love, the one who left us._

But all that leaves Lucette is a false, "I want anything that's the best for you."

As soon as the words leave her, Lucette cannot help wondering when she got so used to lying to Fritz.

 

* * *

 

"It's impossible. The both of you _cannot_ go into town like that."

Lucette and Fritz exchange a look.

"I don't think a makeover is necessary, Karma." Lucette says.

Karma clicks his tongue, a sparkle in his eye. "No, we'll reserve that for another day. Right now, what the both of you need are _disguises_."

"That's great. But is there any reason why this discussion needs to be done in my room?" Waltz asks, bemused.

"Because none of my shirts will fit Fritzgerald, of course!" Karma huffs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He throws open Waltz's closet, much to the latter's chagrin.

"By the time i'm done with you, Fritzgerald, not even your neighbour will recognise you."

Fritz looks completely unconvinced, but still gets up from his seat on the bed to dutifully play dress up with Karma, anyway.

"As long as Waltz is alright with me borrowing his clothes." Fritz says, amused.

Waltz shifts from his seat beside Lucette, making the bed shake.

"Take anything you want, Fritz." Waltz says, leaning his chin into a palm. "At least _you_ bothered to ask."

Despite the exasperated tone, Waltz cannot suppress the grin on his face.

Even though this side trip to Marchen was clearly going to take longer than intended, Lucette doesn't think she'll mind, not with the light hearted banter easing her frazzled nerves, relaxing her sweaty grip over her skirt.

Initially, she had made a stop to Marchen simply to get a second opinion from Rumpel, on whether there would be any detrimental effects as to Fritz's zealous enthusiasm to dig into his past once more.

But the only residents in Marchen were all currently gathered in the room, the owner of which had told Lucette with a shake of head that Rumpel was too busy helping royal clinics all over town with the injured from the recent war.

Often times he wouldn't even be back until night had long fallen, and even then it was rare to catch sight of the doctor.

Then Karma had suggested that they go into town anyway. He was meeting a few ladies for tea, who conveniently had been working in the tailoring industry of Angielle for quite some time. If anyone, they might know of Fritz's mother.

Lucette hadn't been sure of whether to simply go ahead, but Fritz had not hesitated in agreeing.

With that, how could Lucette stop him?

Even if, even now, Lucette still cannot shake off the uneasy feeling that overcomes her anytime Fritz steps under a shade too dark for comfort.

Either way, now Lucette finds herself watching Karma sweep Fritz into his pace, as Waltz's wardrobe is practically torn apart in the process.

Lucette thinks that if it wasn't for the fact that it was Karma causing such chaos, Waltz wouldn't have stood for this treatment at all.

"I'm going to have to fold all of that." Waltz mutters, watching Karma pull out clothes and toss them aside.

"Just make Karma do it." Lucette says, folding her hands over her lap. It wouldn't do if her skirt became any more of a rumpled mess than it already was. "He's the one creating this mess."

"No." Waltz immediately rejects, looking horrified at the thought. "Karma might be a genius swordsman, but he can't fold a shirt to save a life. My best dress shirt had wrinkles for days after Karma did laundry _once_."

"It was just once. I got the wrinkles out anyway, didn't I?" Karma says, aligning a shirt to Fritz's front.

"By burning my shirt to crisp when you ironed it!" Waltz retorts.

"Live and let be, Waltz!" Karma shoots back. "I bought you a new one the next day, anyway!"

"Yeah, in the delightful shade leek green." Waltz rolls his eyes. "I'm still waiting for you to exchange it."

"It brings out your eyes."

"My eyes are _red_."

"That they are." Lucette says, a sliver of a smile slipping through. The thought of Karma folding laundry was rather hilarious. Not as much as the thought of Waltz in a frilly green shirt was.

The sight makes Waltz break into a smile.

"You finally smiled." Waltz says, bumping his shoulder against Lucette's.

"It has been hard to find reasons to, lately." Lucette murmurs, so as to not catch the attention of the two currently playing makeover. She didn't want to give Fritz anything else to worry about.

Least of all, making him think that she was inconvenienced and troubled because of him.

Thankfully, Karma bumps his closet rummaging and noisy exclamations up another notch, casually speaking over the secondary pair's quiet conversation.

She's become so much more...closed off around the knight, Lucette realises. Before, she would have told Fritz anything, at the slightest of coaxations.

But now, Lucette isn't sure. The empty glaze in his eyes as he had spoken to her in the labyrinth was still so - frightening, still.

And the fear of hurting and being hurt convinces Lucette to keep to herself, to swallow down word after word.

Because the truth is, Lucette doesn't know if Fritz still recognises worrying over someone as a privilege, or if it might only remind him of a burdened childhood long pass.

Beatrice's smile flashes across her mind, and Lucette feels her own disappearing.

Seeing Lucette's smile fall once more, Waltz's eyes soften. He reaches a hand out to wrap an arm around Lucette's shoulders loosely, turning her attention back to her friend.

"It'll be alright." Waltz says, quiet yet convinced. "I will not give you false assurances and say that this is the best course of action. But I do know that this is your chosen manner of moving forward, and that choosing to act will always triumph over doing nothing at all."

He squeezes her shoulder. "It is not always easy to choose. Nor is it to act. Your bravery in deciding to do both will not go unrewarded, Lucette. Have faith in yourself."

Lucette wants to believe in Waltz's words, so, so badly. To think that her actions will bring about a reward, to have faith in her choices.

But it's hard, when everything Lucette has done so far has only led to Fritz's ruin.

Her decisions to run, to love Varg, to love Fritz. To encompass all that he was, all that he could be, in order to encourage him to love and be himself again.

None of that had turned out well.

But Lucette, still, wants to believe that one of them eventually will.

So she takes a deep breath, and does.

It would be what Fritz would have done, after all.

"Thank you, Waltz." Lucette says, offering her friend a tiny smile. It comes surprisingly easy, as does Waltz's returning smile.

"Anytime, Lucette." Waltz says, tightening his arm around her in a half-hug. That seems to alert him of Lucette's own dark attire, or at least, the velvet material that wraps around Lucette, entirely black.

His expression quietens into something Lucette cannot discern.

"You'll be wearing this out, I assume?" Waltz asks, other hand fingering the hem of Lucette's cloak.

Lucette reaches a protective hand out to grip the right above where Waltz touches. The metal chain holding the cloak clasps together is cold against her wrist.

"Yes."

Waltz moves his hand back to hold his chin, contemplating. For a second, Lucette thinks he might tell her to leave it behind.

"It stands out too much, draped over you like that. Let me rearrange it so it looks less...conspicuous?" Waltz says instead, holding a hand out in offer.

"...I'd like to see what you have in mind." Lucette says. Even with her attachment to the cloak, she cannot deny the second glances passerbys have thrown in her direction as she walks down the streets.

And Lucette cannot risk being found out as the Crown Princess on this outing. No doubt everyone would calm up around her, completely negating the point of their trip.

Completely negating any hope of ever learning more about Fritz, of returning his memories to him.

So she stands, and allows Waltz who stands with her to undo the too long cloak from her shoulders.

"I'll have to try and work around the hood Annice added for you, but i'm sure I can come up with something." Waltz says.

Lucette nods, and is glad for the fact that Waltz does not question why she did not ask the cloak to be trimmed to her height.

It's the very reason why she still wears the worn out cloak, after all.

The very reason she has kept it on herself, ever since Fritz had laid eyes on the cloak and asked her so innocently where she had gotten it.

Lucette's heart gives a hard twist at the memory, so she chooses to push it aside, like how she is becoming so used to doing.

After many safety pins and wrangling with the thick fabric, Waltz manages to get it into a somewhat stylish drape. The clasps keep it in place for the most part, as it always has.

"There. I let some of your dress show, to keep some colour." Waltz says, taking a step back. He props a hand on his hip, satisfied with his own work. "How do you like it?"

Lucette turns from side to side, inspecting it. Everything falls nicely over her form, yet not too plainly to have strangers question why a lady would wear such an unfashionable item, grieving or not.

"It should work." Lucette says. Reaching a hand over her shoulder to touch the back to find the additional accessory hidden behind a fold, Lucette frowns. "But I can't use the hood now."

"True." Waltz presses his lips into a line, thinking. After a short while, a thought seems to strike him, but the uncomfortable glance he sends to Lucette tells her she might not like his next idea.

"I do need something to cover my hair." Lucette encourages.

Waltz smiles tentatively, drumming his fingers over his chin.

"I can...think of something." Waltz says, slowly. "Parfait owned a black veil. It would work perfectly."

He looks out his window, smile sombering. "And it wouldn't be out of place, either."

Lucette follows his line of sight to the streets below. As many as there are people milling about with cheer, there are those dressed in mourning garb, long and black.

It's an off putting idea. But some part in Lucette craves the ominous thought.

"It's fine." Lucette finds herself saying, before she can change her mind.

Waltz looks at her in surprise, clearly caught off guard by how unaffected she sounds.

"You're sure?" Waltz says with a concerned frown.

"It's fine." Lucette repeats. Her fingers dig into her palm beneath the cloak.

It's a fitting concept, anyway, to a certain extent.

"Alright."

Waltz walks towards the door, beckoning Lucette to follow with a nod.

It's a short walk just down the corridor to Parfait's room. For a moment, nether say anything before the door.

"I'll just pop in real quick to get it. Delora won't mind us borrowing it, but she wants to keep as little people going in as possible. She's still cleaning everything up." Waltz explains, one hand on the knob.

Lucette tactfully does not bring up the way she can see Waltz's hand trembling over the metal piece.

"I understand." Lucette replies.

As he'd said, Waltz takes barely five minutes to retrieve the item. He closes the door far too quickly, and his gaze does not stay in the direction of the room for long.

Waltz steps before the door, bodily blocking it out of sight, and out of mind.

Inadvertently, Lucette looks away too.

Lingering at any place that reminds of those they've lost for too long would only urge one to remain at that standstill, forever braised in the memories of days long past.

She would know, from her newfound avoidant nature of anything remotely to do with shrubbery and plants.

Just thinking about them was starting up the tiredly familiar ache in her chest again, so Lucette forces herself to focus on the delicate cloth in Waltz's hands instead.

The veil is delicately woven, black baroque lacework carefully hand stitched around the edges. It's plain and elegant, with no flashy colours or design. Almost unbelievable to have been owned by a fairy who wore every colour under the sky.

But the careful, tiny stitches are certainly Parfait's own.

Lucette feels her heart aching for a different sort of grief now, and has to hold her breath to stop the too familiar sting behind her eyes.

Waltz carefully lays it on Lucette's head, pinning it in place with the accompanying hair piece.

She's glad to find that it only covers half her face, if only so it reminds her that the want to hide away should never be stronger than a willpower to overcome it.

As if it was a lesson Parfait had left, for her reckless princess she had cherished so much.

"Lucette." Waltz says, and his voice clues Lucette in on how her head is still tilted low.

Looking up, Lucette finds herself able to meet his eyes better, now that her own were hidden.

Waltz takes a step closer to her. Cradling her hands in his gloved ones, his gaze is sharp, knowing.

"We're here for you. All of us. Please, don't forget that."

In the narrow corridor, basked in the thin streaks of sunlight that highlight the dust in the air, Lucette cannot feel alive.

"I know." Lucette says, but she cannot muster a smile to go along with it, either.

Waltz's hold tightens, and for a moment, Lucette thinks Waltz might cry.

But he simply swallows hard, and pushes a smile on his face.

He doesn't say another word more.

Lucette doesn't know if it's because he doesn't have anything else left to impart, or if he's just too afraid of saying them, like how she is with her own words.

Lucette doesn't ask.

But she thinks Waltz's lack of speech doesn't stem from fear, not from the way he does not let go of her hand as they walk back to his room, comforting and strong.

Perhaps it was care, instead.

And Lucette thinks of the knight who used to keep silent because of love and care, too. Who used to suffer and hurt, if only so he would be the only one to do so.

Who is now, still suffering and hurting, because of too deep wounds freshly exposed without any rhyme or reason that he can understand.

This time, the thought, the ache in Lucette's heart, the trapped breath she does not let go, cannot hold back the single, bitter tear that rolls down her cheek.

 

* * *

 

By the entrance of Marchen, their miniature party prepares to leave.

Karma has his arms crossed, pouting. Waltz is beside him, blatantly ignoring his dramatics in favour of unlocking the front door.

Karma sighs overdramatically, earning a patronising smile from Waltz.

"Shall we go, then? This...isn't my best work, but it will have to do." Karma grouses, sadly glancing at Fritz.

"I don't think it's your work at all." Waltz says, an eyebrow cocked. "Fritz hasn't even changed. After you've left me piles of clothes to refold, too."

"Not my fault none of your clothes fit him, either. I thought you were well-built Waltz, but apparently before Fritzgerald, you're a twig." Karma says with a flip of hair.

"Well. We found a hat." Fritz says, trying to mediate. As he says so, he nervously tugs on the brim of the newsboy cap they'd dug out.

"And a fake set of spectacles that look very familiar." Lucette adds, mirroring Waltz's brow raise. "Aren't these Rumpel's?"

Karma dismisses her concerns with a wave of hand. "Their lens were broken, so I popped them out. Rumpel won't miss them."

"He _was_ planning on getting them fixed next week, you know." Waltz says with a chuckle.

"Time for him to reschedule his plans, then. _We_ need them more than he does." Karma says with a devilish grin.

Waltz rolls his eyes, clearly used to Karma. Walking forward, he opens the door for the trio.

"I hope it all works out." Waltz says, as they exit the tavern. "Stay safe."

Lucette nods, hoping to convey her thanks through her eyes alone. She thinks it might have worked, for Waltz's shoulders lax and he offers her a nod of his own.

Turning back ahead, Lucette finds Fritz and Karma waiting, the former with a held out arm.

Karma takes the lead, prompting Lucette to quickly slide her hand into the crook of Fritz's elbow.

She assumes it must be part of their illusion as non-princess and knight.

Then Lucette recalls with a start when he used to do this like second nature - out of love and protection, and it frightens her how she does not think of that first.

Lucette's hold on Fritz tightens, and she wishes, suddenly, that it was his hand in hers instead.

"Can I hold your hand, Fritz?" Lucette asks, too overwhelmed to think of biting her tongue.

Fritz's face instantly turns bright red. "I - Princess?"

" _Lucette_." Lucette emphasises. "No titles. We're supposed to be in disguise, remember?"

Fritz looks like he's ready to combust. Pulling on the brim of his hat, he turns away quickly.

Even with his face angled downwards and away, Lucette can still see the red that Fritz's tips of ears burning. He doesn't call her by her name, but he does, very awkwardly, shift to take her hand in his own.

No matter how unnatural, how seemingly forced the action, Lucette cannot help but to take comfort in the familiar warmth of Fritz's hand, the rough protrusions and indents over it.

Curling her fingers around his hand, Lucette tries to remind herself of what it represents, who it protects.

But the way Fritz doesn't offer a comforting squeeze back, turns the memory into a second guess, instead.

So she curls her icy digits around Fritz's lukewarm ones, and desperately seeks to remember.

Remember the sun, and the person who had a smile, a presence that embodied its very essence.

Lucette couldn't forget, too.

If she did, then where would that leave the both of them?

Where would it leave their budding relations, freshly sowed in the forest that felt so, so long ago?

Lucette doesn't want to think of alternative answers that will not lead to her own happiness, to Fritz's.

So she shuts her eyes, ears, mind, from it, from the looming disaster that she was always so fond of seeking.

Lucette doesn't know if its good, or right, to behave so.

All she knows is that this is not something she needs, something she wants to confront right now.

If she did, Lucette thinks this time, she might be the one who breaks into tiny, unsalvageable pieces in the face of the unforgiving reality.

As they near their destination, Karma leads them off the path, seeking the secrecy of a nearby backstreet.

At this time of the day, the area isn't well lit by the sun, and overhanging strings of laundry don't help in that regard.

Lucette moves closer to Fritz, and begs with a sideway glance that he not be taken by the cool shade.

And the smile on Fritz's face would have comforted her, if not for the strange shadow the hat casts over half his face.

"Fritzgerald, princess, please listen to me." Karma says, dragging Lucette's eyes back to him and the matter at hand. His voice is strangely gentle, even comforting.

So unlike the usual, brash him, that Lucette flinches at the thought of another person changing, even if for the better.

But the steady thrum of Karma's voice and level stare stays, convinces Lucette to listen, to not close herself off to the people she wants to love.

So Lucette grips Fritz's hand ever stronger, and makes herself meet Karma's eye.

Seeing that he has both parties' undivided attention, Karma begins to speak once more, albeit still softer than his usual volume.

"Whatever you may hear later might not be what you hope to. There may even be instances where you might feel uncomfortable, or feel the need to stop the conversation. When that happens, do not stand, or draw any attention to yourselves. Just tap three times on the table with your fingernail, and I will immediately change the flow of the conversation, no matter what I have to do."

Karma looks at Lucette first, then Fritz. His gaze is strong, confident. Different, yet the same.

"Do not hold out on my behalf. Especially you, Fritzgerald. I've seen firsthand how you withstood wounds during fights. This whole excursion is for your sake and the princess'. As such, I will not allow either of you to have to withstand unnecessary hurt. If at any point you realise you will not benefit from this, stop me. Understand?"

Karma crosses his arms over his chest, expectantly staring at Fritz. It's clear who his message is mainly directed at, but it warms Lucette to think that Karma would be concerned of her feelings too.

Karma doesn't avert his piercing, compelling stare from Fritz until he nods.

"Okay." Fritz says, garnering a large grin from Karma.

"Good. You hold back too much, Fritzgerald."

Karma thumps a fist against Fritz's chest. It's an odd gesture with his current womanly get up, but none are surplussed by it. Not when they've already witnessed him taking down fully armoured men in the very same clothes.

Karma tilts his head, grinning. "We've already fought back to back, so I don't want to be someone you do not think you can openly be around."

Fritz blinks, looking most surprised. Quickly, smoothly, his surprise unravels into a shy smile. "Understood, Klaude."

Karma's grin widens at Fritz's use of his proper name. "There we go! Knew I could crack you within a day. Remind me to collect my bet winnings from Rumpel, princess."

Lucette does not bother hiding her smile, helpless and thankful.

She was right, after all. They didn't have to follow in the footsteps of their parents, wouldn't. Not with trustworthy friends by their side. Even if they had the penchant of making ill natured bets.

But Lucette thinks she'll let this one slide, considering how she hasn't seen confidence this strong, this unbroken shining in Fritz's eyes for so long now.

"Fine."

With a pleased nod, Karma turns towards the exit of the alley.

"Like we planned, alright? Don't fret, i'll be right behind."

Lucette and Fritz leave before him, heading towards the outdoor cafe Karma told them of first. Karma had everything planned out, from the venue to the seats. Carefully controlled, to prevent even the smallest potential trip ups.

He was determined to keep to his word to not let them get hurt, it seemed, and the effort makes Lucette's heart clench.

Still, upon entering the venue, a trickle of sweat runs down the back of Lucette's neck.

No matter the repeats in her head that no one can see nor recognise her under the veil, that it is impossible for anyone to single her out amongst all these other patrons, the phantom thoughts and stares plague her mind.

Lucette's steps slow, and every breath, every step starts to become a struggle. Lucette thinks it is only her desire to help the man she was currently holding on to for dear life that keeps her moving.

"Princess." Fritz's murmur flutters directly beside her ear, and Lucette jumps, clapping a hand over it. Despite everything, she feels the heat rising on her face, so oddly not reflecting on her usually self-conscious guard's own.

"Yes?" Lucette all but chokes out, glad for the veil that gives her to courage to continue maintaining eye contact. Her heartbeat still races like a rabbit's, but now she isn't sure if its from the proximity of Fritz's face to hers, or from her nerves.

Lucette only prays her newfound rouge complexion is paler than she feels, if only so Fritz would stop staring at her in that manner of his.

Through the haze of black, she cannot make out what Fritz is saying with his patient gaze. Cannot see the subtle shift of his amber eyes, a dull warning light.

"Please take a seat." Fritz smiles, having already pulled out her chair.

Mutedly, Lucette follows Fritz's lead. After ensuring that Lucette is comfortably seated, Fritz takes his seat across her.

A waitress comes gliding over, setting down a jug of water and cups, cheerily telling them to give a wave whenever they're ready.

Lucette does not miss how Fritz barely flinches at the action, at how he does not readily smile and thank her, as he typically would.

The red drains from Lucette's face, soon returning to its normal paleness. Lucette thinks of how its a common occurance now, to be let down so quickly, to have hopes plummeting like her heart into a carnivorous pit of despair.

An oh-so-familiar pain into her hand begins to burn, half moons in her flesh. Lucette thinks of how she might scar. How wounds can become permanent, if left untreated and too often disturbed.

She thinks she wants to let this one fester.

"Lu -."

Before Fritz can finish her name, he stops himself with an embarrassed cough. Opening his mouth, he tries again, only to be stuck at the same syllable multiple tries in a row.

The attempt only sours the cuts, drives them deeper.

Lucette does not want to hope. Lucette also did not want to love, but here she is now.

So with a deep breath, she allows herself to love his familiar, earnest, endearing attempts, and lets slip a small smile she could never hold back before her clumsy lover.

"Yes?" Lucette says, finally taking pity after watching Fritz fluster for a few minutes more.

"Are you alright?"

The simple question, so alike the way he had spoken amongst too tall trees and too quiet groves, drives out all the air in her.

Fritz's eyes are bright and worried, tender and kind, oh so, so kind.

Even the blur of the veil cannot shield that from Lucette. She thinks nothing could, not when she's been looking for this exact face for so long now.

In that moment, Lucette wants so badly to tell him, of all her worries, all her grievances, all the deep, deep hurt she thought she could bury in her.

But for the sake of another moment in his sun, all she does is put on another smile, its fragility mirroring one she used to see on Fritz, lit by a campfire and insecurities he could not voice.

"I am. Thank you for worrying."

Fritz's brows furrow, obviously not taken with Lucette's lie, but at the same time, struggling to understand why she might.

Even through the veil, the darkening of Fritz's expression is starkly clear. The express disapproval has Lucette clenching her hands over one another on her lap, her throat constricting.

"You're lying, princess."

Fritz's voice is soft. Eyes sparking with hurt and confusion, lips twisting in a not-quite frown, like he can't decide what he should feel, should show to Lucette.

In that instant, what shoots through Lucette's mind is painful awareness, frightful thoughts of his mother and conditional love and his sad, sad anger, of broken oranges and reds; thoughts that she wishes she could say she shut down immediately.

And Lucette, suddenly, remembers Fritz, dyed in indigo and blues.

The warmth of the memory, of the revelations, take on a cold metallic sheen, and Lucette desperately has to reach for her own truth, her love.

Fritz was holding her fast, weak and worried, over protectiveness raw and restrained. Fritz was holding her, his arms like -

Steel bars around her; a deftly constructed cage.

A shudder threatens to shatter Lucette's perfect poise. Ice curls in her middle, crawling up her spine.

 _'Fritz is not his fears.'_  Lucette firmly tells herself, demanding the ice to crackle and chip.

Lucette will not fear a person he will not become.

But she cannot help the wonder how it ever got this hard. How even with the sun glaring above, it is the shadow of everything else that Fritz remains trapped under instead.

Lucette stretches out a hand, but Fritz pulls away, shaking his head.

In a sudden burst, the dark breaks into anxious confusion, plain and heartbreaking in the lost way Fritz looks at Lucette, upset and horrified at the things he's thinking, he's saying.

If Fritz could run, Lucette thinks he might, past her line of sight, further than he has ever allowed himself to go from her side.

Fritz puts a hand over his face, and takes a harrowing inhale.

"No, I - I didn't mean that. I just -." Fritz mumbles, eyes darting away, a heavy, heavy sadness settling on him again.

"I just -."

Jaw locked, Fritz searches for an explanation, but comes up as empty as his gaze.

Without hesitation, Lucette reaches out again, clutching the tight fist Fritz has made on the table with both her chilled hands.

"I understand." Lucette whispers, a single truth amongst all their half-lies.

So, so badly, she wants to say she doesn't. That she cannot fathom why Fritz would act so odd, so uncharacteristic and _sad_.

But Lucette's seen him, splintering at the edges yet desperate to build himself whole. She's seen him struggle and hurt and cry, and it wouldn't do to just pretend that those moments never existed.

Even if - if acknowledging all those forgotten moments would create someone Lucette doesn't know.

Lucette is just, so, so tired of denying herself her love.

But, with Fritz's fist slowly opening to intertwine itself with one of her own, the light in Fritz's eyes returning, captivating, Lucette does wonder - how far is she willing to go for it?

How much of herself is she willing to stifle for it?

Lucette cannot answer any of those questions. Won't.

Not when Fritz is smiling so beautifully at her again, gaze blissfully soft yet still missing - something.

And that something makes Lucette's breaths come too slowly, eyes bleary and _sting_.

Soon, but not soon enough, Karma walks in with a pair of ladies, a conversation flowing easy between all three, unlike the stagnant atmosphere lingering over Lucette's table.

Karma smoothly takes the table behind the duo, seating with his back directly facing Fritz's own. Lucette lowers her head, careful to hide her face even further from the ladies.

But she does not make a move to untangle her hand from Fritz's. If anything, she holds on tighter.

No matter what, this time Lucette was determined to not let him leave her.

With her passive stance, Lucette misses the whole smile of soft adoration that flickers past Fritz's lips so faintly.

Minutes pass, and still the conversation consists of nothing but idle chatter. Karma controls the conversation, with well placed gasps and questions, accompanied by the fanciest chuckles.

Asking of the weather, their children, then to the latest fabrics and designs.

Socially inept as she is, Lucette cannot tell where Karma is trying to bring the conversation to.

But Lucette also knows of Karma's uncanny ability to speak in undertones and implications, so despite the anxiety brewing in her stomach, she leaves her hands clasped tightly with and around Fritz's.

Drinks are brought, thanked for, and in the break of the conversation, Karma easily drops the bomb.

"Speaking of the latest collection ladies, I was hoping you could aid me in procuring a new dress in the style. I've heard there was quite a talented seamstress around here - Beatrice, I believe she was called? Have you any idea how I might contact her?"

One of the ladies immediately sets her cup down, ashen faced. The other simply stares at Karma in open shock.

"Pardon my rudeness." The brunette glances embarrassedly at her teacup, recalling the loud clunk it had made just seconds prior. "But how did you hear of that - name?"

Karma shrugs, acting unaffected. "I heard rumours around town." He replies vaguely.

The women exchange looks, clearly uncomfortable with the question. For the first time since they sat, the conversation comes to a complete standstill. Lucette fears the lady's grip over the china teacup might shatter it.

Suddenly, the lady with an intricate side braid exhales all at once.

"No point beating around the bush with you, Miss Karma, so i'll tell you straight." She says. "She's passed."

"Eda!" The brunette gasps, whacking her friend in the shoulder.

The braided lady - Eda - rubs her shoulder with a grimace. "She had to know sooner or later! And better us then - then some nobody who'd run their mouth _off_ about all the _awful -_ awful rumours about Beatrice."

Eda grits her teeth, brow furrowed in a tight mess. Her previous smile is wiped off her face, an ugly frown having replaced it.

"I apologise." Karma immediately cuts in, words for once unscripted. Lucette can even hear the regretful and shocked bite to his voice. At that, she feels a pang of remorse, too. "I did not mean to bring up bad memories."

Eda shakes her head. "No, you didn't know. It wasn't your fault."

"We were just shocked that you brought up her name." The brunette lays a comforting hand over Eda's. "After so long, i'd thought that she...that no one remembered."

"Of course they do, Gabriela. Forget someone like Beatrice? Heaven forbid!" Eda lets out a small laugh. She begins twirling the end of her braid and tugging at it in agitation. "No one could forget her. Especially after…."

She glances at Karma, hesitant. Gabriela seems to pick up on Eda's hint, and hastily turns to face Karma.

"We invited you for a laidback afternoon chat, not...this." Gabriela waves a hand in the air, before settling on a kindly smile. "We apologise, and we won't talk about it if you would rather not hear. It's a rather...depressing affair, per say. We wouldn't want to spoil your day."

"No, please do." Karma says with a quick shake of his head. As much as Lucette know that part of him is doing it for the pair behind him, she can tell that he is genuine in his offer to listen to the ladies' grievances, too. "I'm all ears."

Eda exchanges another look with Gabriela, before taking a deep breath.

"Beatrice, well, she was a seamstress who used to work around here, as you already know. Always had a smile at the ready, or a kind word to offer. Everyone in the community knew and loved her. Beatrice was a lovely woman. A friend." Eda says, sighing. "Remember when Leo broke his leg, and she offered to do his deliveries? That whole month when she hauled silk and cloth across several blocks with nothing but a wheelbarrow and a pluck load of perseverance. Even with her health as it was."

"Oh, I can still remember her collapsing into me and begging for a cup of lemonade." Gabriela laughs, fond and sweet. "And remember how she made Ingrid her wedding dress, asking for payment in gingersnaps? She always had a sweet tooth, especially for scones. Despite her poor health, she would just...do that, you know? Offer clothes and help to anyone who needed it, I mean."

Gabriela catches Karma's confused look, a sad sheen to her eyes as she explains. "Beatrice was born with a weak disposition. Her health wasn't her selling point, and childbirth didn't come easy to her - it left her bedridden for months. Her husband worried himself sick throughout it all. A touching sight, really. Didn't stop her from taking on sewing commissions or aiding anyone who needed it, though.

"An if they didn't have the coin for her service, she would request something she knew they could provide in return. Beatrice never wanted anyone to be indebted to her. Never wanted anyone to feel guilty for needing help. If she could, i'm sure she would have done it all for free - but she was always a practical woman. A real angel."

Throughout the women's retelling, Fritz has remained completely still, except for his traitorous lower lip that trembles and reveals.

His eyes practically shine with amazement at the words, and despite the odd quirk to his smile, he looked to be positively glowing.

Lucette spies the lovely cherry red that diffuses across his cheeks, a warm pride for the mother he had forgotten, and her heart squeezes.

Even just by listening to the women, just by watching Fritz, Lucette thinks she can understand a smidge of the love Beatrice had given her son, and her son had given in return.

At least, until -.

"And we all thought the marriage would only turn her lovelier. It did, for a while."

The pleasant pain of Lucette's heart quickly turns sore, and she only hopes that Fritz's will not turn the same, or perhaps even worse, even darker, even dirtier.

But she knows it will.

Yet even in her luckless situation, Lucette wants to hold onto to hope, onto the man who taught her how to.

So Lucette clenches Fritz's hands, and wills her own to warm his, cold as they are.

She doesn't know if her steady gaze and lukewarm fingers do anything, but she's determined to make it worth _something_.

"For a while." Gabriela echoes. Her chestnut eyes turn dull, the memory of times long past pulling her lips into a saddened smile. "Then the War began."

Lucette flinches, but forces herself to listen on.

"It ruined so many of us. So many families. But none quite as bad as Beatrice's. You might already know this, but she was married to the previous captain of the Order of Caldria, Alcaster Leverton."

At the mention of his father's name, Fritz stiffens. His head ducks low, and Lucette can only hope her touch alone might comfort.

"See, Beatrice loved her husband so. And so did he, at first." Gabriela looks off into the distance. "But he stopped...showing it. We hardly see him around town, with his position in the castle, but we never thought - never would have, for a single second, thought that that uselessly devoted knight would have abandoned Beatrice too."

Gabriela chews on her bottom lip, angry and distraught. "We should have noticed it earlier. By the time we did, Beatrice - oh, _Beatrice_. We were her friends! We saw - We saw what his absence did to her. We should have -."

The brunette hides the lower half of her face with a hand. It does not shield Lucette from seeing the drops of tears that run down her face.

Eda hastily pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing at Gabriela's cheeks. Gabriela takes the handkerchief with a hoarse thanks.

"It devastated her." Eda says quietly.

At that, both ladies fall entirely silent.

In the sudden silence, Karma instantly holds out a hand, signaling a stop. For a second, he shoots a guilty look over his shoulder at Lucette.

"We don't have to continue this conversation if it's too hard." Karma says gently. "I do not wish to make the both of you upset, either."

To the surprise of both Karma and Lucette, Gabriela shakes her head. Staunching her tears with a polite sniff and quick swipe of the handkerchief, she looks straight ahead at Karma.

"No. You ought to know, since you wanted to know the truth. And if you want to frequent our industry, we'd rather you know the facts than fiction. Even if we doubt anyone would try and _really_ feed you any vile lies about Beatrice, dear as she was." Gabriela says, with a weak smile.

"We really should get Rina in line. She was the one spreading all those rumours." Eda mutters darkly.

"Hush, she didn't know any better." Gabriela sighs. "We must pick our battles."

"And i'll destroy her. Like how I so badly want to Alcaster. Oh, that foolish man. He's lucky the King will exile him, for if I get my hands on him, he'll _wish_ the King had brought him to the guillotine instead."

"Eda!" Gabriela exclaims, but all the lady does is huffily turn her nose up.

"Alcaster was a stupid man who turned blind to the worth of the woman he wooed." Eda says heatedly. "If he never planned on making her happy for the rest of her life, he never should have made such false promises."

"Alcaster tried his best." Gabriela weakly argues. "It was a war. He was the captain of the Order."

"He was her husband!" Eda hisses. "You saw Beatrice! You saw how she wasted away. We all did. Her sunken cheeks, her wilted smile - it was awful. She barely even spoke to any of us. We were lucky if we could even get her out of the house, as dazed as she became.

"And she tells us that Alcaster - that _wimp_ , that sorry _excuse_ of a _man_ \- still returned to their home night after night? Without once noticing what his absence did to his wife? Or maybe that workaholic just didn't care."

"It was war, Eda!" Gabriela gasps. "He wouldn't have -."

"It was a war, yes." Eda interrupts. " _That_ was why he should have been by their side. The army had the King, the generals. But to Beatrice, Alcaster was all she had. She was poorly, especially after her birth. Her family wasn't around anymore either, and _he knew that._ Who else could Beatrice have depended on?

"I wish - I wish it had been _us_. Leon, old McHearth, Penelope, any one of us. But Beatrice - that silly goose - she loved him so much. Too much. Until she lost sight of everyone else. Even little Fritz."

Eda looks away from the table completely now, angrily staring at the shop window filled with pastries, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her chin is tilted high, clearly trying not to cry.

"Eda." Gabriela murmurs, touching her friend's lower arm. "You did your best, too. And look at Fritz. He's now the princess' personal guard. He's doing well."

"Well, I should have done more, then." Eda says bitterly. "The boy might be fine now, but he could have been fine back then, too. He could have grown up with a normal family. I should have taken him when I had the chance - Alcaster certainly wouldn't have minded."

"Stop it." Gabriela's tone turns fierce. She grips her friend's arm, shaking it to force Eda to look at her.

"You are angry, but you should not speak of the man like this. We have no right to speak of him in such a light when we do not know of their family affairs."

"Did we really not?" Eda returns, a quiet question that silences Gabriela and has her pressing her lips into a thin line.

Sensing the stormy topic, and the unease of the man behind him, Karma quickly reaches out a calm hand to carefully rest over Gabriela's that rests on Eda's arm.

It draw their attention to him, and the tension dissolves minutely.

"You did what you could, i'm sure. Both of you." Karma speaks softly, kindly. "Sometimes, it is all you could have done, no matter what the turn out is."

"Beatrice was just…" Gabriela sighs, smiling sadly. "Someone who deserved a lot better than the hand she was dealt. Her whole family deserved more than what they got, really."

Gabriela gazes up at to the sky. "I hope she's resting easy now, bless her heart."

"Me too." Eda says quietly, looking away towards the pristine shop windows once more.

So caught up in the conversation, Lucette fails to recognise the grip of Fritz's hand, until he lets go.

Suddenly, the pain hits Lucette at full force, and she involuntarily flinches. Glancing down, she realises that her hand is practically glowing red and white with poor circulation. Oddly placed dents from Fritz's nails litter the back of her hand.

Fritz himself is deathly pale, with what Lucette thinks, hopes, is cold sweat streaking down the side of his face. His teeth have indented themselves in his bottom lip, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry, but I -." Fritz attempts an excuse, before giving up entirely to stand. His movements are quick but smooth, attracting no further attention. Still, he has a hand over his mouth.

With his words cracking at the end, the familiar way his hand clamps too hard and his brows furrowed too tight, Lucette thinks its not to hide his face but perhaps to stop the itching bile of disgust from rising.

She would know.

But before she can stand, or even reach out to hold him once more, Fritz flees the scene, strides long and hurried, desperate for a respite.

Lucette is quick to rise to her feet, giving a very alarmed Karma a subtle nod to tell him she'd handle it.

Right now, she doesn't think anybody else can, or should.

As Lucette chases after Fritz, an odd sense of deja vu overwhelms her.

There had been arcs of red and orange in her path, a weirdly silent forest, and collapsing shadows from all sides.

Now, there's unfiltered sunlight tracking her, a bustling town centre pushing at her, and still, the shadows do not let up on both her figure and Fritz's.

Now, even when she stretches out her hand, she cannot grasp Fritz.

The only difference is this time Lucette doesn't know if she can. Doesn't know what her cold, unfeeling hands can do for Fritz.

Doesn't know how someone as unkind as her can heal his grievous wounds, how someone as crude and cutting as her can hold someone as delicate as Fritz and not hurt him _more_.

But Lucette wants to try, even if she doesn't know if she should.

Since leaving the forest, Lucette belatedly thinks she knows a lot less than when she first entered; still foolish, if not much more, in the ways of love, in the ways of care, in the ways of everything that's grown to become so, so important to her.

For the first time in a long, long time, in a way Lucette thought she forgot, Lucette wonders why Fritz would love someone like her.

Eventually, Lucette breaks away from the crowd to follow Fritz past short alleys and backstreets into a much quieter side of the town.

It's a rundown, rustic corner, filled with shops with shades pulled half down and empty tables outside near-empty cafes.

Still, the buzz of low conversations and wind through leaves accompanies them.

They could never find true silence here, no matter how hard they might seek for it.

Lucette cannot decide whether she likes that or not.

Fritz has settled on a wirey metal bench, and Lucette slows her brisk jog upon reaching him. He has his face buried in a hand, the other a tight fist on his leg over the hat he has torn off his head. She hovers for a moment before him, not knowing whether she should crouch down to face him or seat next to him.

It's decided when Fritz removes his hand to look up at her, eyes glazed a wildfire. He's removed the spectacle frames as well, the accessory now hanging from his shirt.

His empty face only emphasises on the way it's crumpled and torn, splotchy with red and agony.

"I don't understand, princess." Is the first phrase that spills from him, as he takes Lucette's hands in his own, very shaky ones.

And Lucette cannot think of anything to say, not when she understands even less.

She might have heard all the stories alongside Fritz, but she thinks it only turns the woman Fritz loved into so much more of a mystery, as if Beatrice were a box inside a box.

But she understands all the hurt and betrayal, all the bright anger and dull dismal directed at their damned curiousity for learning too much of a secret that they tore open themselves.

"It's alright." Lucette says, soft as she can, holding Fritz's hands close as she can. "It's alright. We can take our time figuring things out."

Fritz's grip doesn't let up, and Lucette has already run out of comforting phrases to regurgitate.

Frankly, Lucette doesn't know what else she should do.

Is too afraid to think of what else she _can_ do, can say, that won't only end up burying that deep seeded sadness even further down.

Every word Lucette says only brings back bitter memories of sunset breaking over a flower field, the spiralling fear of hurting and being hurt by unkind love.

And for once since Fritz started forgetting, Lucette thinks she wants to keep all these memories to herself, if only so his eyes would dry and glow with sun once more.

If only so she's the only one who has to hurt, to suffer, to doubt all that was good in the world.

If only because Fritz has so clearly reached his breaking point, and Lucette is far too afraid to push him past it.

Back in the forest, Lucette had known that it was what he needed, to heal and repair. To bare his heart to the one person he so badly wanted to, to learn to face his inner demons and embrace them.

But now, all Lucette feels in the face of Fritz on the brink of falling apart is fear.

Unending, all consuming fear, that forebodes and cackles and sets off warning bells so loud her head rings endlessly.

Gazing helplessly back down at Fritz, Lucette, for once, feels small and powerless, even with him by her side.

That sudden thought crashlands next to the awful stories she's just heard, the shared memories of a past she never wanted to become a burden now on her shoulders like a one sided weight - and all at once everything is _too much._

If not for the cloak around her shoulders, if not for the still warm hands of Fritz's holding hers, if not for the lessons she has learnt of love and the pain that follows and hope that always blossoms at the end, surely, Lucette might have let go.

Of what - her sanity, Fritz, the secret hopes she's held for so long - Lucette doesn't know.

What she does know is to curl her hands tighter over her metaphorical treasures, and over her physical one, too.

Lucette takes a slow, shuddering breath, and runs a thumb over Fritz's knuckles.

Forces herself to steady and calm, forces her voice not to shake, forces herself to _remember_.

"I don't know if everything will be okay." Lucette starts, nearly a whisper. "I don't know if we'll make it through this all in one piece. But Fritz, I do know that I will be beside you throughout it all. That I will support you, as you have me. Even if I may understand less, even if I may not be _enough_. Fritz, I -."

Lucette pauses, pressing her thumb gently into a scar over the back of Fritz's hand.

This is the hand that has protected her for so long. She wonders if her own, unskilled, pale and soft, can do the same for him.

"I love you, and I will not let you forget that."

Fritz's gaze is whole yet uncertain, as he looks back at Lucette, lips parted in an uncertain, voiceless sigh.

Now, under the unforgiving sunlight, Fritz looks more fragile than ever, a pane of chipped glass quietly, gently, cracking at the seams.

"Princess, it is not you I do not understand." Fritz murmurs, pulling her closer. "It is my mother. Myself. Everything else."

Fritz gaze upon Lucette turns sharp, angled, all the ways Lucette has come to know and somewhat love, just not with - him.

It reminds Lucette of someone darker, someone more likely to hurt for his love, someone dangerous and capable of much more than he ever let himself be.

The chill that shoots through Lucette's veins remains even as the angles dissolve, into something weaker and translucent.

Because Lucette knows, where the edges and gliding sharpness were born, and if Fritz now embodied them without understanding them then - could Lucette hold him back?

Could anyone, now that _he_ was gone?

Oblivious to Lucette's inner turmoil, Fritz continues speaking, slow and almost calculated.

"You say I am just like her, then why can I not understand her love?" Fritz says. His eyes pin Lucette to an invisible corkboard, and Lucette struggles to breathe. "Why did she love my father? How could she, after all that he did? She was someone who - who deserved more. Why didn't she seek it?"

His voice is grieving, an awful sort of vibe that tugs at Lucette and demands her to answer. That coaxes her to lean in, trace the scars that line his hands.

Lucette loves Fritz, so, so much. Even with that hollow gaze that doesn't reflect her, that doesn't harbour the sun any longer.

And still Lucette wants to believe that someday, it still could.

Suddenly, she understands Beatrice's odd sort of love, the distorting kind that destroys a person inside out.

But Lucette is not Beatrice. Foolish love leads nowhere, and Lucette has already learnt that once.

Even if it is silly to trust a man who is a mere shadow of his former self, even if it is stupid for her to hope against reality, Lucette will; not only because the alternative is far too sad, but also because she _trusts_ Fritz.

Trusts that Fritz will remember his promise to return to her side, for as long as she needs and desires him.

Lucette will believe in their love, and will, too, refuse to let another love destroy her, especially one as pure and kind as Fritz's.

With that in mind, Lucette inhales, and allows her words to finally, not quake in the determination they must wield.

"Fritz, you said it once yourself. That people can be kind without understanding why. That people can love without asking for anything in return." Lucette says, gazing at Fritz. "It doesn't invalidate anything they've done. If anything, it proves them kinder, more loving. To act without a second thought, to love without conditions.

"I'm sure that's why your mother could give so much. How you can. You've always been that way - giving without question, kind to a fault. You may not remember why, but it is who you are, who you've always been. Just because you cannot recall why you behave in a certain manner, it doesn't mean it's false, or untrue, or useless, even if the results may end up feeling that way.

"I cannot speak for your mother, or why she stayed with your father. But I know from the her that lives on in you that it must be because of love, and her own kindness. I cannot say if her actions were right or wrong, but I can say that the kindness she passed on to you is definitely something you can cherish.

"Fritz, you are your own person. No matter what you learn, what you feel or don't, what you can or cannot remember, it does not change that fact. You may not understand your mother, or yourself, _and that is fine._ As long as you keep in mind that you are your own, that new memories, new reasons and new motivations can always be formed once more. You may not know now, but i'm sure you can find a reason in the future."

Lucette squeezes Fritz's hands once, hard. "And I will be beside you as you try to. So Fritz, don't - don't go anywhere I can't follow."

The last words weren't meant to be said. But Lucette finds herself unable to hold it back, not when Fritz was gazing at her so oddly, so familiar in the manner of restraint his smile pulls into.

So painfully scary in the way his jaw is locked, his eyes are steel in a way he refuses to speak of something he's made a grave for in himself.

The daylight casts even shadows across Fritz's face, soaking his bittersweet smile in further melancholy.

It's reminiscent in the worst ways of another smile more tender by a campfire, under the reds of a setting sun and framed with tears.

Identical in the heaviness of words left unsaid, secrets left untold.

Identical in the guilt they bore.

Lucette feels her smile failing her, crinkling and scrunching until it is an unsure line, and the sting behind her eyes is too much to bear.

 _"Fritz."_ She whispers, begs, and he stands, to press a kiss to her cheek, a warm reassurance.

Fritz's lips still tremble, a quiet, longing sigh escaping him as he moves to brush his forehead against her own.

Lucette almost hates how the familiarity of the gesture allows her to let her guard down completely, to let her think everything might actually be okay.

"Thank you, princess."

His words are softer, but firmer. More confident, more...Fritz.

But Lucette does not miss the way Fritz does not promise to stay.

Despite his previous one to, a silver of insecurity still winds itself around Lucette's heart, suffocating her.

"Fritz." Lucette repeats, not knowing what else she can say, without potentially hurting him more.

His endearing eyes, soft in all the ways she loves, sharp in all the ways she hadn't known it could be, makes the simple words of love die in her throat.

"Princess." Fritz returns, bringing a hand of hers up to kiss.

His smile leaves butterfly kisses, cruelly gentle despite the secrets it hides.

"It's Lucette, remember?"

And when Fritz laughs, deceitfully gentle, Lucette aches in the way she loves him.

 

* * *

 

The noise of entire tavern trickles to a stop as Lucette enters, alone.

Usually, she'd have a snipe remark on the tongue like a loose cannon, but today she cannot find the will in herself to do so.

The close sign clatters against the door's window as she shuts it. Life's small mercies, she supposes, that she might arrive after they'd closed.

Noticing her lack of company, Waltz walks towards her, brows knit in a concerned fashion.

"Lucette?" He asks, soft. His unassuming tone calms Lucette's ragged thoughts, encourages her to stop staring at his nose but into his eyes.

"Fritz had to return first." Lucette just manages to stop herself from glancing back and staring at the back of the knight walking away through the window glass, twisting a hand into the fabric over her chest. "He had business with father. I came back hoping to catch Rumpel at some point today."

"The doctor is in, princess."

The chirpy voice of their local incorrigible flirt does wonders for Lucette's mood. She allows Waltz to guide her to the table where Rumpel is seated, having a very early dinner.

Delora and Rod accompany the brunette with mugs of milk coffee. All three greet Lucette with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and Lucette returns it all with a dull nod.

Rumpel swallows a mouthful of bread, patting the place beside him. Lucette dutifully sits, as does Waltz across her, next to Rod.

"I didn't think I would see you here today." Lucette says.

Rumpel sheepishly laughs, pulling his medicine bag closer beside.

"I _did_ intend to go right after I finished my meal, but how can I not spare some time for my favourite princess?" Rumpel smiles, crossing his legs. "So, what can I do for you today, my dear?" He props a hand beneath his chin in a mock professional pose, and Lucette rolls her eyes, fighting a smile.

Despite his carefree attitude, his bespectacled eyes belie focused attention.

A leftover trace from his previous medical appointment, Lucette thinks. But it convinces, eases, Lucette to spill the one worry she's nursed for days.

"Was it bad to force Fritz to remember?" Lucette blurts. In her panic, she almost forgets there are others present. It is only the sudden stop of the clinking of a metal spoon in Delora's mug that reminds her. "Medically and morally speaking."

Rumpel blinks, taken aback. Lowering his arm, he turns his torso to face Lucette proper. Eyes narrowing, features morphing with thought. "I've heard bits from Annice, but….Fill me in, princess."

Lucette retells the happenings of the past few weeks with growing exhaustion. Even simply talking about it was emotionally toiling. From the forgetting, to the attempted process of remembering.

Half way through, Lucette cannot tell if the pains she speaks of are Fritz's, or her own. If the disappearing memories she fears never will return are something she wishes for, anymore.

It takes everything in Lucette to not just collapse into messy tears, to not lock herself away and dismiss everything with an easy wave of her hand.

She thinks it is only the unjudging silence of those around and the professional gaze of Rumpel that keeps her from ending it all.

When Lucette finishes her tale, Rumpel makes a low humming noise.

"Quite an unusual case we have here." Rumpel murmurs, eyes angled to the side. Lucette knows he must be flipping through numerous encyclopedias in his head for an answer.

She does not know if she wants to hear it, not when the vacant glaze of Fritz's kind smile still haunts her.

"But not one we cannot solve."

Lucette blinks. The following clatters of a hastily put down mug and startled coughs tell her she is not alone in her surprise.

"Are you sure?" Lucette asks in complete disbelief. It pains hers how badly she wants to hear Rumpel say that he's mistaken, just so she can sweep this under the rug and wallow under her blankets like she was apt to do just a year ago.

It has started to become terrifying, to fail and be distraught and hurt, even if it is all for the sake of another.

Yet she cannot ignore the undeniable swell of hope in her, or forgo the knowledge of Fritz's sun she has come to love so dearly.

To face this issue is painful and difficult, yes. But to live without Fritz by her side would inflict a far worse hurt she doesn't think she could ever bear, not anymore.

"How?" Lucette pushes on, filled with a determination she cannot believe in, but willing to harness.

"It certainly is an odd sounding problem." Rumpel admits, scratching his cheek with a finger. "But if it is something to do with the psyche, there usually is a method to improve it."

"Medication, therapy, hypnosis." Rumpel lists with the aid of his fingers. "I could go on. Of course, none of this is foolproof, unfortunately. Neither can it guarantee results. But in Fritz's case, I'd recommend doing none of those."

Lucette feels like she's being thrown into a whirlwind, jerked back and forth between hope and utter confusion.

Pressing a hand to her temple, she forces her migraine away.

"So you're telling me that whatever we've been doing has been counterproductive." Lucette says flatly.

Unfortunately, her migraine only grows in intensity.

Somehow, everything feels so much worse than before.

"Lucette." A sonorous voice cuts through her headache cleanly.

 _"What."_ Lucette is disappointed to hear her voice lacking any bite. Clearly, her pathetic attempt at intimidation wasn't doing anything to the female witch.

Delora pushes her hot mug towards the auburn. "Drink. You haven't eaten since the morning, I can tell."

Lucette wants to refuse, but Delora's hard stare doesn't allow her to. Reluctantly, she takes a small sip. The hot liquid warms her almost immediately, shocking her dreary system awake.

"It's hot." Lucette murmurs, setting the mug down. Somehow, she feels tears collecting at the edges of her eyes. Her bodily functions must really be messed up, if the Ice Princess is made tempted to cry at every little action.

At every small thing that reminds her of someone good and kind and _warm_.

Lucette hears shifting, and feels a gentle hand upon her head.

Looking up, she finds Rumpel's professional gaze wiped away, replaced with a fond smile as he pats her head.

"Nothing you've done has been unproductive at all. I could only conclude that _because_ you've done so much without a positive result. You see, princess, when it comes to aiding those with an affected mind, there is no cure - only methods of trial and error.

"And it is you that has gone through enough that enabled me to predict with the best of my ability that my doctorate has granted me what will, or will not, work."

Rumpel speaks slow and soft, with a hint of a healer's touch, a hint of a friend's. "You've done your best, Lucette. Give yourself credit for that. Do not blame yourself for trying your best."

The words, so overwhelming in their acceptance, so similar to a tone she knows with her knight, nearly forces a split dam in her to break apart entirely.

Her nose sours, and Lucette quickly presses the back of her hand to it to prevent any unsightly sniffing.

"I understand. Thank you, Rumpel." Lucette says, a tad more watery than she likes.

"Anytime." Rumpel ruffles her hair, grinning. "It wouldn't do for me to ignore a patient's needs."

"I am not your patient." Lucette replies, confused. "Fritz should be."

Before she can get another word in, Rumpel pokes the middle of her forehead, clicking his tongue in faux-disapproval. "The whiteness of your face and badly knitted brows say otherwise. I am a doctor who looks out for everyone, you know! And I prescribe you acknowledgement for all the good you've done these past few days."

The silly smile on Rumpel's face only stretches, even as Lucette brushes his hand away.

"Oh." Lucette lets out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucette notices Rod holding out a handkerchief. He doesn't say anything, but his careful gaze betrays his worry. Lucette wants to reject the cloth, if only so she doesn't have to admit that she's so embarrassedly about to cry in front of a crowd.

But Rod is gentle as he presses the handkerchief into her lax hand around the mug. Lucette feels the cracks on her tightly controlled dam breaking even further.

"Use it." His speech is crude, but the undertone of care is evident in the way his eyes slide to the side, his cheeks the faintest dust of pink.

Lucette doesn't think it's ever been harder for her to swallow down the lump in her throat. She looks at the handkerchief, and holds it against the mug.

"Thank you." Lucette says for the second time in minutes, and remembers why she returned, why the town celebrates.

Her guts still bite with cold, but her hands are blossoming with kind warmth, at the touch of unconditional love.

Lucette is still unsure, still afraid of endless possibilities and the pitfalls that lie behind them.

Lucette is still someone unable to wholly believe in given love, but she believes in the warmth in her fingertips, the stinging of her eyes.

She believes that she is not alone.

And sometimes, she thinks, that is all one needs to know in order to take another step forward.

Lucette looks up, and stares into Rumpel's eyes without any previous hesitation.

"So in your professional opinion, the solution is to do nothing."

Rumpel hums in agreement.

"Like i've said, usually we _do_ try to restore the psyche to what it could have been. But not all steps taken towards helping a patient must include actively doing something. Considering how Fritz appears to fall back only when finding out more about his missing memories and his family, and is fine otherwise, I would suggest to take a break from that endeavour. Sometimes, time is what heals best of all. And when time has done its job, we can try again."

"Try again." Lucette echoes. The thought is harrowing already, draining. Too many what-ifs are already running through her mind, too many years she counts before Fritz might heal proper.

"It will never be too late."

As if reading her mind, Waltz's voice is soft as he speaks up. Lucette turns to find Waltz smiling gently, hands laced upon the table.

"It will take time, but in that time, both of you can rest for all the years both of you never could. Allow yourself to let go of burdens for a time, little star. Allow both you and Fritz to simply rest. It is necessary time you must spend. Think of it as preparation to heal."

Waltz reaches out, overlapping her hand that holds on the mug. "And while you do, no one is stopping you from building new memories together, even without the old. They may appear more fragile, less real, but they will be good times nonetheless. They will be times to be cherished. And someday, they too will become what is Fritz.

"By then, no matter what happens, Fritz will be...Fritz. Your Fritz. Someone, I think, Fritz himself can love. After all, it is hard to not love someone that the person you love so much does."

Lucette looks at Waltz, feeling starstruck.

It wasn't as if she had never thought about such things. It wasn't as if she didn't know. It wasn't as if she didn't believe.

It was just that quiet, nagging lull at the back of head that constantly convinced her otherwise, that constantly made her doubt and fear and wish the world away.

Continuously wish and wish and wish instead of doing anything else, haunted by ghosts of people still alive - the bitter darkness, traced with sweet smiles and false promises, lined with velvet and metal and dull laughter; the painful light, blown out with indecipherable questions that may as well be riddles, filled with nothing yet everything, filled with empty joy and ocean deep sadness.

So alike to a man she once knew, yet all at once, so different.

Lucette thinks it is the repetition of the hope that drowns in the midst of her negativity that exorcises them, if only for a moment.

After all, Lucette thinks she must love these ghosts too, if she wants to truly understand the one they originate from.

It is love that convinces her so.

But which kind, the one that strengthens and supports or the one that corrupts and destroys, Lucette cannot say.

Lucette is still a girl too weak for her own good, too willing to try for something, someone, who might already be too far changed for even love to return.

Yet the heat of Fritz's hands, the smile he adorns that reminds her of the clear sky, the overhanging sun, refuses to erase itself from her mind, from her heart.

Yet the softness of Fritz's words, of his lips, still linger and seek in some corner of her heart, some tiny part of her that is still more a princess than a queen that holds onto a long past day of bleached banisters, wildflowers and chapped hands that shook when they tried to touch her.

Fritz will always be hers, Lucette knows that. He had said so himself, clothed even in silver, even in black.

There is truth in Waltz's words. There is truth in hope and light and all things good and kind.

But there is also truth in Fritz's second glances, in his trembling lower lip, in his faraway gaze entangled in shadows that hollows in the day.

Red and oranges splay across the wooden floor of the tavern, and Lucette cannot tear her eyes from it.

There was gold there once, beautiful and blooming and precious.

Now all that remains is the harsh strokes of a bleeding sun.

She thinks of reaching out, of tracing the painful colours of a dying light.

But is there anyone who will reach back?

"The sun's going down." Lucette says, and her voice sounds as dazed as she feels. "I should return."

She doesn't register her movements to stand and walk away until Waltz is grabbing her hand, and Rod is at her other side.

"I'll accompany you." Waltz says, and his grip tightens. He has an unnaturally large smile on his face, taut with anxiety, and Lucette doesn't think she wants to know why. It will only hurt, she knows.

It will only hurt.

"Besides, I highly doubt if it's safe for the royal princess and prince to venture the roads alone at this hour."

No one suggests the underground passageway. It is connected to the jails, to where the previous bearer of the Tenebrarum used to sleep.

Amidst the flooding heat, Lucette doesn't think she will care. But Waltz is still looking at her with that odd smile, and Rod stands a little closer than he did.

And Lucette swallows. Allows herself to feel out of place and skewed and disorientated, to be scared of things that may come and things that may not, to hold Waltz's hand and feel Rod's presence and not think of imminent departures and change that will always come to pass.

Allows herself to feel, even the tiniest bit, loved in the light.

It wouldn't do, after all, if the princess who set out to save her knight lost herself in the process. It wouldn't do at all.

Lucette would hurt and cry and frighten, but she would not back down, would not forget love taught and felt.

It may be foolish, but it is what Fritz had done to save her.

And it is what will Lucette will do to save him.

Lucette grips Waltz's hand back, and smiles, hard and determined.

"Thank you." Lucette says for the third time in an hour, genuine all the same.

They do not ask why.

But their returning smiles tell her everything she needs to know.

 

* * *

 

The halls are quiet, torches held on the pillars flickering a lighted path Lucette walks.

The three had split up upon reaching the castle, due to differing goals.

Waltz had to drop by the previous magical advisor's room to collect further witchery items found, even useless as they were now, else they would be incinerated. Rod decided to be the one to report their return to their parents, and would retire for the night after.

Unexpectedly, Rod lingers before they split.

"Our door is always open for you. Mother, Em...and mine." Rod says, awkward yet kind. Sebby twitches on his shoulder, and Rod absentmindedly strokes the top of the rabbit. "So if you want to return to Marchen at any point, just ask. Don't go alone. It's dangerous, and...yeah."

Lucette nods. She thinks of thanking him, but perhaps twice a day would be too much. Still, Rod seems to understand her slight tilt of head, and smiles in her stead before turning to leave.

Now, Lucette finds herself alone once more, roaming the halls of the castle in search of Fritz.

It's been a long while since she's traversed anywhere alone, Lucette realises. These days, there was usually a guard or a friend by her side.

Usually Fritz, with an easily offered hand and a ready smile, waiting.

Lucette's hand curls into itself, but she still finds herself smiling at the thought.

It's second nature now, with them, to go wherever the other is. To so easily assume the position next to one another, another silly conversation waiting to be had, another day ready to be spent.

Yet lately the gap has grown. From hands, to a stiff elbow, to staring at a back that leads the way. Casual conversations deflating into one word exchanges.

Talks about acting improper, about knowing places and positions and who a future Queen should find company in.

Fritz had had the most unhappy smile when he'd said that, all averted gazes and uncomfortable scratches behind the neck.

Lucette wonders if it was him talking or the ministers she'd catch conversing with him.

Lucette thinks it might be both. And it hurts her, in the way she does not doubt that thought; to see Fritz act like a stranger, act in a way she had asked him to forget, between kisses and whispered secrets.

To think just mere weeks ago they were comfortable enough to sleep next to each other, under the same cloak.

The cloak that has been rearranged back into its usual fashion around her. Lucette has always felt more grounded that way, more protected.

Not to mention how it acts as a reminder, of the days they'd spent with each other in the forest. Of the days Lucette longs to relieve, longs for Fritz to just...remember.

It is hard, to live with the burden of too much knowledge. Of too much love that the other refuses to accept because he'd rewound back to a time when he couldn't.

It is times like this Lucette regrets leaving the forest at all, questions if any of it was worth it - peace in Angielle, the happiness of the citizens, the bustle of a city.

If anything she'd done, she'd achieved, was worth it at the cost of Fritz.

Lucette cannot come up with an answer. Or perhaps, she doesn't want to acknowledge the answer she's come to, for fear of being seen as too cruel, too selfish.

But she cannot understand why it is wrong to be selfish, either. To want the one person who had made the country worth saving, whole and complete and alive and _happy_.

Some part of Lucette thinks she would have let Angielle burn if it meant that Fritz and her would have found happiness away from it. Some part of her still does.

It is a toxic idea Lucette toys with, but refuses to make a reality. It will always be there, the tendrils of impulsive thoughts too vile to be voiced, but Lucette wants to believe that as long as she never acts on them, she will never become someone Fritz would be disappointed in.

Ah, Fritz really had...become her measure for everything, hadn't he.

The realisation is slow to sink into Lucette, yet everything feels startling clear once it does. The worth of a day, of an item, of a person; all of it decided by a ruler she had adopted from Fritz.

Even if he had forgotten, his lessons live on in her. The thought aches Lucette's heart. She wonders if that is enough for Fritz. If that will satiate his need to understand kindness and himself.

She doesn't think so. She isn't able to pinpoint why she comes to that conclusion, either.

Maybe it's the combination of faded looks and sad smiles, of hollow words lined with sharp edges and sharper meanings. Of lackluster golden eyes that catch in the dark and dim in the light, that she still helplessly loves so, so much.

Lucette takes a breath.

The forest is behind them, tucked away and so far out of reach. Lucette knows she must move on, and focus on the present situation at hand.

Yet she cannot help her yearning for the enchanted woods, the running river, the peach tree. And with every memory of Fritz, with sunspots dancing on his figure, foliage casting dainty shadows over his form, adorning a crooked smile too gentle to be anything but helpless, unconditional love, Lucette feels her yearning spill and overflow.

Lucette had wanted him so much. She still does.

Even with the sun going right through him, bleaching out any colour in his form, the edges of his smile faintly dissolving under every passing cloud, too tired to be anything but helpless, unconditional love.

He loves her. That is all that should matter, right?

Something in Lucette screams at her _no_ , the very same something that keeps her awake at night, lying on wet pillows and clutching a worn, useless mask.

Fritz loves her, but it is not Fritzgerald Aiden Leverton who does.

But soon, it will be. Days, months, years will pass, and Fritz will become a person of his own all again, with or without his past.

Somehow, the thought is as welcoming as it is repulsive.

Lucette hates that disgust will ever be a part of how she views Fritz. Lucette hates that she will ever not be fond of Fritz, at all.

But most of all, Lucette hates not being able to talk to Fritz about all this, because of silly fear and anxiety.

Lucette takes a sharp turn, and finds herself near the knights' barracks.

Decidedly, Lucette walks towards the far end of it, where the single rooms are.

Rumpel told her that dredging up the past was a bad idea. But keeping secrets from Fritz, keeping her feelings all boxed and locked away felt so much worse.

There must be a middle ground there. If not, Lucette is determined to forge one herself.

Soon, she finds herself before Fritz's room, a hand poised for a knock.

The insecurity still eats away at her, cruel whispers leaking from crevices in her mind of Fritz, of her, of all the things she feels. She wonders if Fritz would think the same, without knowledge of himself or of the love he taught.

Lucette doesn't know.

Lucette also thinks it wiser to trust in the Fritz she has seen and loves, than the voices in her head.

So she lowers her hand, and knocks exactly twice.

There isn't an answer.

Lucette frowns, and tries again after a pause, this time harder. To her surprise, the door gives way, a loud click indicating an improperly latched door from hurry.

"Fritz?" Lucette calls, uncertain. She pushes the door open, only to find the room empty.

Looking around, Lucette tries not to feel like a out of place in the impersonal room. It's walls are bare, the bed neatly made, a closet, desk and shelf to the side that holds only bare necessities and basic books.

She tries to tell herself it is because Fritz hardly stays here, considering his nearby home. But Lucette cannot suppress the chill that wracks down her spine.

The one weirdly placed item on the immaculate desk jumps out immediately at Lucette.

Walking towards the desk, Lucette sees that it is an opened letter. The contents lie on its hastily torn open envelope, bits of paper littering the desk.

It would be an invasion of privacy to look, but a nagging feeling tells Lucette the guilt is worth what the letter has to say.

Picking it up, Lucette skims over the contents once. Twice.

It's a King's decree that allows Alcaster Leverton freedom for a day, on the condition that he is to be accompanied by at least one of Angielle's guards at all times.

The letter is thrown unkempt onto the desk, and Lucette is running out the room fast as her legs can take her.

It's a familiar path to the jails, even despite their lack of use in recent years.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Lucette has no doubt that there is where Fritz is.

If he really was with Alcaster, it would just be a simple visit, for crying out loud. A few minutes, hours at most. Fritz isn't stupid enough to free one of Angielle's most wanted prisoners without someone else accompanying him. His loyalty to the country overrides even his most base desires, Lucette _knows_ that.

Most importantly of all, Fritz would never do anything that may even potentially come to harm Lucette.

Lucette wants to convince herself that everything is fine. That Fritz will be at the jails, talking to himself, and offer her that weak smile so she can pull him away and tell him that he does not need the love of his father to be complete, that just because his mother loved Alcaster it does not mean Fritz owes him that love too.

That this will end with her looking foolish and Fritz smiling as always, scorned but fine.

But the too quiet halls and conversation from before forces her thoughts into a downward spiral. Dark shadows flicker with every step she takes across the torch-lit path, following, echoing, haunting.

The firelight is slight and barely enough to chase the shadows. Lucette doesn't pause long enough to let them catch her, her steps just wide enough to cross inky depths into puddles of light.

Once again, Lucette finds herself running towards a future she cannot believe in, the world ringing in her ears, weighing on her shoulders.

But this time, Lucette cannot say for sure who will be waiting for her at the end of this chase.

Still, she curls her hands into the velvet cloth sweeping around her and _hopes_.

Even if it is just Fritz, it will be enough. She will make it so.

Lucette doesn't want a knight in shining armour or a prince on a white horse. She just wants her awkwardly lovable Fritz, who gave her more happiness than she ever thought she could hold, than she ever deserved.

Who held her and saw not a broken princess, but a person waiting to be loved.

Lucette dares a glance at the rising moon and pleads, _haven't you taken enough already, please at least let me have him, let me have **Fritz**._

The entrance to the basement soon comes to view, and Lucette grits her teeth, picking up the pace.

The cramped walkways are flooded with firelight, the torches above barely affected by the slight wind of Lucette's flapping cloak.

She curses not for the first time of the winding catacombs beneath the castle. Designed for making escape near impossible, the winding stone labyrinth is only a headache now for the princess.

Even on usual days it was hard to navigate, what more now with an overly anxious Lucette. Frustratingly enough, her frazzled mind is of no help as Lucette makes her way towards the only prisoner in these jails.

Relying on muscle memory and vaguely carved directions into the stone, Lucette can only pray that she will not be too late.

Not too late for what Lucette cannot say, but her gut feeling tells her it is nothing good.

She's always hated how honed her instincts were.

She's always hated that part of herself.

Just as Lucette finds herself a mile or so away from the jails, there's a loud rattle of metal, the clanging of stone on steel. It sends the torches into a wild dance, Lucette's heart into a frenzy.

Immediately after, there's a loud yell, despaired and angered.

"You should never have been born!"

The silence that follows is far more horrifying than the loudness of what came before.

Lucette would pause to feel anger about the words, about the cruel hatred evident in the shout. But the underlying distress and pain is one achingly familiar, one that sends pity and lackluster understanding through her instead.

It is the voice of a mourner - too sick and grieved to acknowledge what they've caused, what the dead has left behind, no matter how precious.

It is Lucette's own voice, thirteen and raw, begging for a kind of love that no one but the dead could give.

Yet understanding does not come with forgiveness. Not for Alcaster.

Not when the trembling of Fritz's lower lip still tastes fresh, not when Fritz still hurts and hurts and hurts for a death not his fault, for a tainted love he never should have felt.

If Fritz must hurt, then so must all who have caused it.

And in the silence that resounds the empty labyrinth paths, Lucette cannot help the thought of whether Fritz felt the same, as good and kind as he no longer is.

Lucette cannot swallow down another breath fast enough.

Her calves burn, her chest hurts, but still she forges on, mind filled with nothing but terror and Fritz.

The uneven terrain has Lucette stumbling more than once. At one point, she feels her ankle twist and nearly give way. A choked gasp, and Lucette has already taken the next step.

It hurts, her legs and freshly twisted ankle, but she cannot stop, not now.

It is only the adrenaline pumping through her system and her utmost fear of what must come to pass that pushes Lucette on.

The firelight burns fierce, but Lucette feels none of the bravery its warm tones attempt to lend. It is simply fire and light, uncertain and frightening like all endings to a story feels like.

Heaving, dripping with cold sweat, Lucette eventually rounds the corner to where Alcaster's jail is.

Footsteps teetering to a clumsy stop, her harsh panting the only sound apart from the drip, drip, drip of -

The unforgiving scent of copper hits Lucette before her mind can even process it.

Eyes wide, Lucette can only dumbly take the unforgiving scene in before her silently, the urge to scream rushing up her throat.

The door to Alcaster's jail is pried wide open, slowly swaying back and forth. It clinks softly with every tap of metal against stone wall. Alcaster lies face down in the door's way, red pooling beneath him quietly. His unmoving limbs are laid upon the ever growing puddle of blood, an arm still stretched out towards his assailant.

Towards Fritz, who holds his bloodied sword with white hot knuckles, an expression Lucette has only seen strangers make scrawled ugly across his face.

Lucette wants to throw up. Wants to scream. Wants to run to Fritz and pull him away and tell him he can stay, still.

Even now, she cannot bring herself to let go.

"Fritz?" Lucette mumbles, and it is all that is needed to break the spell.

Her voice always has been, to Fritz.

Fritz looks up, staring into the cell for a long moment. Eyes refocusing, hardening.

Looks at Lucette, at her shaking form and too wide eyes and pales immediately. But he doesn't lower his sword, held perpendicular to the ground.

"Princess." Fritz murmurs. 

The title seems to ground the man to the atrocity he has just committed. Fritz turns back to the unmoving body of who once was his father, and his expression morphs into one of pain, of grief, of abject sadness and awful, awful, clarity.

"My mind went blank." Fritz says quietly. "I didn't - didn't - just _didn't_ want to stand it anymore. And then -."

Silence falls once more.

Fritz never once lifts his eyes from Alcaster's body. Despite his despairing tone, his eyes are empty and unfeeling, lips parted soundlessly.

In the firelight casted above, Fritz catches the shadows in all his sharp angles, all his soft indents. It falls solid and grey over him, blanching out his gentle form into something harsh and bitter.

For a moment, everything returns to the quiet, and Lucette almost wants to make believe it is her and Fritz alone in an enchanted forest again, where nothing and no one could ever hurt them.

But the stone is hard where she leans against it, and the smell of blood that fills her senses is too much for any fantasy to challenge.

The metallic taste of blood appears to sink into Fritz's visage, tainting it, tormenting him. Firelight catches in his amber eyes and they flash a warning sign, a premonition that has come to past. He lifts his golden gaze, and when it pins itself on Lucette, it is almost remorseful.

It sends his fair features into red-orange shadows, sharp and soft all the same. But the colours dominate him now, no longer a mere conduit, a mere backdrop.

The ice that has made a home in her middle sharpen and crawl up her torso, over her heart. Like a deer caught in the headlights, Lucette can only stare back.

Combined with the scarlet that paints his uniform and sword, the heat of the shades is almost unbearable to stand.

"I really thought I would have been fine." Fritz suddenly starts, tilting his head to look back at his father. "Even without being able to remember. Those I forgot were those who hurt me - I realised that, princess. So I thought I would have been happier, not remembering. That I was happier."

He lifts his sword, looking at it with a distant eye. "I still remembered you. People from town. Not well, but enough. But princess, I lied." A bitter look crosses Fritz's face, clenches his jaw. "I can't remember my mother. _I can't remember her. Nothing **at all**."_

The hidden meaning is quick to set into both parties.

"Fritz -." Lucette tries to find the right words to say, or even any words at all, that might comfort, might enlighten, might make the shadows less terrifying and more natural.

But Fritz suddenly smiles, a waning, wordless upturn of lips that cuts Lucette off.

"That means she hurt me too, didn't she? For all the love she taught and gave me, none of it brought me happiness. I would have remembered if it did."

The need to argue, to fight back against such untruths rises in Lucette, but falls just as rapidly as Fritz's smile grows tired, as she recognises with horror the haze that hangs before his eyes.

It was only a year ago when she last saw it reflected in her own mirror, after all.

Fritz lowers his sword once more, and turns back to face Lucette. Gaze as still as a pane of ice, smile like cracked glass.

"And i'm not strong enough to believe that I won't forget this love, either. Because if I do, princess, if I ever forgot -."

Fritz drops his eyes back to the body before him, and Lucette cannot stop the fear that curdles in her stomach, that deftly wraps itself around her heart and suffocates it.

But even still, when Fritz looks back at her with that oddly gentle touch to his eye, with that stiff smile, all that overwhelms Lucette is want.

Fritz takes a step forward. Then another, and another.

Lucette doesn't do anything but stare, nails pressing crescents into her palm. Lucette doesn't want to do anything but stare.

Eventually, Fritz stops a distance away before Lucette, stopped by an invisible line drawn between them.

Now so much closer, Lucette can see the broken shards of Fritz through his eyes, leaking a fluorescent glow.

Still, it makes Lucette's breath catch in her throat, makes her want to lay butterfly kisses on them until they shine bright like the sun once more.

"But even if I never will forget...you'd still…." Fritz murmurs, trailing off.

Fritz holds his free hand out, close enough to touch Lucette if he so wished. It's stained with blood, but Lucette finds herself wanting to hold it all the same.

It's stained with sin and hurt and the acknowledgement that he is no longer the person he was, but Lucette finds herself wanting Fritz all the same.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it?" Fritz says, soft. "We weren't supposed to end like this."

Like a marionette suspended on strings, Fritz's arm never closes the gap. Instead, all he does is stare at Lucette with that odd, lagged smile; cracked and empty, a pale comparison to his hearty grins.

It chokes Lucette up, makes her breaths come uneven and her hand unfurl, reach out beneath the cloak. Fingers twitching, aching for the man before her.

Suddenly, Fritz's hand recoils, drawing backwards. His expression cracks a little further, and Lucette's hand stills once more.

Gazing at her, Fritz is at once vulnerable and impervious, an unbreakable impasse that traps him, clips his wings and paints his once vivid sky a darkened hue.

"We weren't supposed to end like this." Fritz repeats. His smile is hollow and small, but genuine all the same. Splintering at the corners, and sad; so very, very, sad.

Too sad to be anything but helpless, unconditional love.

"Someone like me never deserved to love you."

Voice too loud to be a whisper, too soft to be a shout.

Yet every word resounds in Lucette's mind, ringing endlessly in her ears. Stopping her breath, making the stinging behind her eyes return tenfold, her heartbeat too painful to keep up with.

The bright overhead fires seep into every crack in the sentence, every break in Fritz's gaze.

There is nothing alive in the way he holds himself now.

Fritz tilts his head slightly to one side, something forlorn and regretful in the way he smiles, in the way he looks at Lucette and sees not a princess, but a woman.

Dropping his hand, Fritz offers Lucette one last gaze, one last, tender smile, before he walks right past her without a second glance.

His undisturbed steps tells her he does not look back.

Lucette wants to turn, to scream at him to stop and stay and not go.

But Fritz's placid stare still holds fast, his startling words still echoing in her head. It pins her to the spot with fear, with dread, with the knowledge of the red orange light the fires burns into the stone floor of days already over and people already gone.

All that is clear to Lucette is how she doesn't want to hurt him. How she already has. How everything she's ever done, has only lead to his ruin.

Has only ever hurt him worse than he ever had been before.

Lucette's knees are giving way, her throbbing ankle and too fast heart suddenly too much for her.

Without anything in the way, all Lucette can do is stare at the dead body before her, and wonder when the blood that gathers will reach the train of her dress, the useless cloak that billows around her.

Wonder if being hurt the same will stop the pain from becoming too much, the buzzing in her head from becoming too loud, the scent of metal that floods and floods and _floods_ from becoming too overwhelming.

Her love meant everything, and caused her everything, too.

No. It hadn't just been love. It had been her own happiness, too.

If only she hadn't thought only of herself, if only she hadn't been so focused on her own happiness, if only she had simply learnt to let go and forget and _sacrifice_.

If only Lucette had been a little less willing to be happy, she wonders if Fritz would have been.

Everything seems to be collapsing all at once into Lucette, turned upside down and shaken.

The stone beneath her begins to numb, the weight of cloth on her turning to nothing, faint pins and needles shuddering through her limbs.

Someone is calling Lucette, but it isn't Fritz. It isn't Fritz.

It isn't the only person she wants to hear calling her name.

It never will be.

Does it really matter anymore, if so?

No, Lucette thinks. No. No. No. No.

The distant warble of her name hits her at full force when a hand grabs her shoulder.

"Lucette!"

Lucette's steadfast image of herself in blood is jarringly broken as someone bodily blocks Alcaster's body from her, pushing her face into his chest. Arms coming around her, one pressing itself to the back of her head, the other tightly circling her middle.

Lucette's arms don't move from their slack position beside her torso. She barely reacts from being handled so roughly at all.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

The apology snaps Lucette to reality. Registers the familiar scent of mint of Waltz pressed against her, holding her fast, holding her so tightly she might break.

Waltz presses his lips onto the top of her head, repeating her name over and over, apologies for things he could not have prevented, Lucette could have prevented, mixed within.

And the familiarity of the regretful words mouthed against her head, the stimulus of a too warm body pressed itself against her, protective and kind and painfully gentle is _too much._

All it takes is a small hiccup, a slow blink, and suddenly the tears begin streaming without any sign of a stop.

Clinging onto Waltz's front, burying her face deeper into his chest, hoping for anything, something, to act as an anchor, to keep her hands busy so they wouldn't scratch and dig into her palms, her wrists, Lucette _wails_.

Messy, too salty tears stream down her scarlet cheeks, stinging her scratched knuckles. The act relieves none of the pain that sears her heart with every beat it takes. If anything, it makes it all so much worse, so much more unbearable.

"I couldn't - _couldn't_ \- ! It was my fault! My - ! _Fault - !"_

Lucette's cries fill the halls, but even then they cannot drown out Fritz's parting words, endlessly echoing in her mind.

Pain and numbness war throughout her body.

Ice shards find a foster home in her heart, her hands, her feet, anywhere warm and gentle, anywhere Lucette wants so badly to feel Fritz's touch upon once more.

Lucette can only remember. Can only remember and replay and relive but not anything else, not anymore.

Can only remember because it is all she is good for. All she can do, as weak as she is.

Lucette remembers.

And she can only scream louder.

Louder, and louder still.

That is all she can do.

Still young, and so, so foolish, that is all Lucette can do.

 

* * *

 

...

..

.

 

Angielle is alive with celebration, buzzing with excitement and joy. Colourful banners and streamers hang from every light post, bundles of flowers twined decoratively amidst the bright ribbon and paper.

Townsfolk and nobility alike mill the city centre, lingering around the main street that has already been cordoned off for the parade to be later held. Not even social castes can divide on this day, as citizens of all sorts exchange happy greetings and cheers.

The castle is of no exception, considering the occasion. If anything, it is more busy and alive than even the town, with maids scurrying back and forth, and butlers hustling about to ensure everything is in order for the big day.

With foreign dignitaries and ambassadors expectant to be present, no mistakes could be afforded.

Even without them, it would be inexcusable for this celebratory day to be anything else than perfect.

It was, after all, the Queen's wedding.

Emelaigne has Rod in her arm as she stands before the bride's door. She shoots her brother an uncertain look, and is met with a nervous frown.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Emelaigne knocks on the door. "Lucette? It's Em. Can I come in?"

"The door's unlocked."

Pushing open the door, Emelaigne and Rod both feel the wind rush out of their lungs at the sight of Lucette.

Pure white silk wraps itself around Lucette's form, a slight train flowing behind her. Stark, elegant gold embroidery decorates the hem of the train and bodice, forming gentle designs of nameless flowers and swirls. Complimenting her sleeveless dress is a delicate golden chain that hangs a delicate lily; a gift from her betrothed.

Hair done in an ornate bun, braids encircling it and weaving throughout the hairstyle to lend youth in the otherwise mature look. Pinned in the bun is a jewelled hairpiece that holds her veil, currently pulled back and floating down her back like a wisp.

Turning slightly to face them proper, Lucette gives her siblings a small smile, the gloss on her lips only accentuating the slender turn of lips.

"You look beautiful, Lucette." Emelaigne says, letting go of Rod to walk forward and hold Lucette's hands in her own.

"Thank you." Lucette says, a touch of a laugh in her words.

Rod opens his mouth to say something, but catches faint words from outside and chooses to pull the door close a little too loudly instead.

Lucette doesn't miss the way the whispers immediately stop.

"Gossiping can be done in the common areas, not outside your Queen's bedroom." Rod says harshly towards the door. Hurried footsteps tell Lucette that the frightened maids must have ran off.

"Don't bother, Rod. You'll be shouting all day if you keep this up." Lucette sighs.

To see that even on such an occasion there would be people trying to dampen the atmosphere only solidified Lucette's apathy towards the castle staff.

It had been expected, of course. Considering her crowning having only been three years prior when she was nineteen, and her engagement early this year.

Even with exasperated anticipation for the animosity and gossip surrounding the timing of it all, Lucette finds herself oddly unaffected.

It would do no one good if she were to lose her temper like before. She wasn't just a willful princess anymore, after all.

Lucette had an actual title to uphold, this time.

"It's your wedding day, and i'm your brother." Rod says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He walks towards her, and Lucette is relieved to see him smiling once more as he gives her another look over. "But you do look lovely. Fine clothes make the man, huh."

"I ought to throw you into jail for such insolence towards your Queen." Lucette says, raising a brow.

"I'd like to see you try." Rod returns. Both instantly burst into giggles that Emelaigne joins in with.

"Oh, oh no. We shouldn't make you laugh. It'll ruin your makeup." Emelaigne eventually catches herself enough to say, and receives a pat on her hand in thanks.

"It should hold up well enough. I'm sure the maids took the dinner after the ceremony into account." Lucette says.

"Better safe than sorry!" Emelaigne grins. "The simple look really does look good on you. I still wanted to see you in more lace, though."

Lucette only smiles in response. She had figured that the more complicated the design, the heavier and more cumbersome it would have been.

At least, that's what she tells herself, after sifting through numerous dress designs and seeing most with intricate bows and ribbons.

It would have been too difficult to partake in the ceremony in those.

And so the plainest one Lucette had chose.

The room falls into silence after that, none of them knowing what to say next.

It isn't as if Lucette cannot guess what's on their minds, what made them look so stormy before entering her room. But she patiently waits for them to voice it instead.

Even now, Lucette cannot find the courage to hurt, even if it means relieving another of the cause of pain.

In a few moments, Emelaigne relents. Her grip grows tight, and her expression is falling.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Lucette?" Emelaigne asks. Despite the sadness in her eyes, her voice remains strong. Unrelenting.

Pride wells in Lucette, for her sister who has grown to confront even the worst of people, even the closest.

The words stifle Lucette, makes the sunlight that dances on the carpet seem all the more bright. Despite her unwavering determination, she cannot deny her longing for the glitter of the sun, still.

It is a feeling that hollows her out, that forces the smile on her face.

Many have asked her the question, some repeatedly, for years now. They are voices of concern, of care, of love.

But none of them is the voice she wants to hear, so she smiles and offers the same answer she has all these years, in hopes repetition will kill the memory of a light that still blooms in her.

"I am."

Emelaigne doesn't look convinced. Rod even less so, but he stares at her with a resigned frown. He has always known of her stubborn streak much better.

He has always been acutely aware of every ray her eyes chase.

Being the second to find her in that basement, how could he not?

"It is good for us all." Lucette says, changing the subject. Unwilling to allow her mind to stray too far. "He is a good man, and this will strengthen our alliance with Direye. Furthermore, he is willing to move to Angielle for our union."

Emelaigne gives a hard sigh. "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

There is more than Angielle at stake, Emelaigne had told her once. What about Lucette? What about her wishes, her happiness?

But as touching as Emelaigne's concern was, as romantic as her ideals, the duty of bring Crown Princess was not something Lucette had ever intended to shy away from.

Her marriage would ultimately be tied to politics, and what might serve her country best.

Lucette had never believed otherwise.

No. Lucette had, once.

Once, when she still frequented the back gardens just to get lost to wait to be found; when dandelions laid itself upon her head instead of a gilded crown; when everything was too quiet and too green and the sun shone with such brilliance she found herself losing her breath, and finding so much more.

Once, when she would fall asleep gazing at the moon and wake up to the sun's gentle glow.

She hadn't forgotten.

The lie had just become lost amongst all the others that had spilled from her since then, that was all.

"It is what matters." Lucette says.

Besides, if she didn't uphold this duty, it would fall upon her siblings to do so instead.

And she has seen the way Rod steals Waltz's hand for the first dance at every ball, the way Emelaigne grows red whenever Karma is in the room.

The way Waltz's eyes light up when Rod approaches him at the first note, the way Karma searches for Emelaigne first whenever he visits.

Lucette wouldn't allow them to take on this responsibility. She'd even pass a royal decree if need be, exploiting of powers be damned.

She had the least to lose among them - in fact, nothing to lose at all.

Nothing at all.

"But so does your happiness." Emelaigne says, frowning.

"Angielle comes before that, Em."

At that, Emelaigne looks ready to continue arguing, but puffs her cheeks and doesn't.

Instead, Rod steps up. It makes Lucette turn to face him, and he holds her level stare.

"Angielle is important, but so are you. You're our sister. We would not let you into a marriage where you cannot find happiness, duty bound or not." Rod says firmly, tone clearly rejecting any half-hearted retorts Lucette might attempt.

"If at any point you wish to break off the marriage, tell us. We will ensure it is done immediately. It doesn't matter when." Rod continues. "You will always come before anything else. Angielle is strong enough to withstand a broken alliance or two."

"Such optimism." Lucette says, half chiding. She knows that Rod means well, and that he is right. Direye is not such a strong country that a severed alliance would mean war. Discord might be sown though.

But it is not the duty of a Queen to risk such matters.

Still, the concern of the duo warms Lucette. It does not dent her conviction, however.

She doesn't think anything will.

Even as her eyes chase after trails of sunlight over her dress, traces moonlight over her bedsheets, she will not let her conviction fade.

Lucette doesn't know what kind of an expression she's making right now, but Rod's frown deepens at it. He reaches out, and flicks her in the forehead.

"We mean it." Rod grumbles, and Lucette presses her fingers to the sore spot.

"I know." Lucette huffs.

And that is what makes it unbearable.

That people would care and love so deeply for her.

That she cannot feel anything in return except foreboding fear and anxiety that plants icicles in her heart.

Still, Lucette smiles, half-hearted and small it might be.

Glancing at the clock, Emelaigne yelps. "Sorry Lucette, but I have to get going. The flowers are going to be here soon, and I have to oversee the arrangements."

Her startled exclamation seems to jolt something in Rod's memory. "I have to make sure my scores are in order, too."

Emelaigne hesitates before letting go of Lucette's hands. "Will you be okay here alone until the ceremony starts?"

"Of course." Lucette replies.

Emelaigne doesn't look convinced, but another glance at the clock persuades her to leave.

"See you later, then! Just get a maid to fetch us if you need anything!" Emelaigne says, with a bright beam.

After the door closes behind the pair, Lucette lets out a long breath.

She overlaps her hands over her front, squeezing tightly. Without the duo, the room returns to its usual silence. It is the closest Lucette has gotten to utter quiet these last few days.

It should ease her. But basking in the light that filters through the window, a familiar pain burning into the palm of her hand, Lucette feels unnerved instead.

Unable to keep from wondering if this is how it will end, if this is how she envisioned her wedding to be like.

Lucette muses mirthlessly if this was what wedding day jitters were like.

Alone, unable to keep busy with her already immaculate appearance, her mind can only wander.

Her betrothed is a prince in his own right, handsome and kind in the way he asks not for her love but her companionship. He owns more titles and riches than any other royal his age, even if it might be incomparable to Lucette's; not that many within the region do. Her family enjoy his company, and readily accept him.

Angielle has never has issues with his country either. It is a perfect union.

Yet Lucette cannot help but yearn for something more, someone.

For hands rough with callouses and burns; with handling a sword too recklessly in youth, too frequently in adulthood; with handling a precarious cane too uncaringly in the beginning, too sparingly in the end.

For a silhouette that she always expects to see when she opens her door, be it day or night, with a smile adorned and a greeting at the ready.

Lucette presses her nails deeper into the groves long embedded into her palm.

Perhaps some fresh air will clear her mind.

Walking over to her window, Lucette unlatches it to pull it open.

For a moment, Lucette has to shut her eyes as the sunlight pours into the room proper. Petrichor dances in the wind, mixed with the scent of freshly cut grass. It is not sweet like flowers, but it reminds all the same.

Lucette forces her eyes open, then.

The view isn't anything spectacular. It faces the back of the garden, a now empty expanse of land the servants enjoy having picnics at on their days off.

The labyrinth that once stood there had been torn down at her command, now that there hadn't been a use for it anymore.

Besides, Lucette had started to grow tired of stupidly gazing at it night after night, unknowing of what she was searching for.

What she was hoping to find.

Gripping the window sill, Lucette takes a deep breath, and tries not to focus on the warmed metal beneath her hands.

Smoothing her hand over the pane absentmindedly, Lucette jumps when her fingers brush against something soft.

Looking down, Lucette feels her breath catch, well trained poise the only thing that keeps her upright.

Sitting innocently on her window sill is a dandelion ring, petals tickling the breeze.

For a moment, all Lucette can do is stare at it in bewildered disbelief.

Picking up the fragile thing carefully, Lucette sees that the petals have semi-dried from over exposure to the elements.

She wonders how long its been left there, forgotten and waiting to be found.

Sunlight catches itself on the handmade ring. Under the light, the yellow petals edged with brown look like blooming gold, the woven green stems like sea glass.

It is falling apart on itself as Lucette gently slides it on her left ring finger.

"A perfect fit." Lucette murmurs, a wane smile edging itself up her lips.

But Lucette supposes that's only to be expected. She remembers the hidden ring amongst the loose dandelions upon a plain banister that one afternoon clear as day, after all.

She remembers the practiced way scarred fingers had woven a flower crown, too perfect to be done on a whim.

She remembers the gentle words, the way the flowers had fluttered and kissed her in a manner the gifter had not dared to.

_'So you can always bring happiness with you.'_

"A perfect fit." Lucette repeats, and wills herself not to cry. Wills herself to not simply throw off her veil, leap over the windowsill and _run_.

Holding her hand up towards the sky, Lucette marvels in the way the dandelions sway and stay, dead and yet so, so alive under the overhead light.

For once that day, Lucette is thankful for the clear skies. For the giant expanse of blue that reminds her of only melancholic things she wanted so badly to love.

But she was a princess then, a girl, a child.

Now, Lucette is a queen, a woman who cannot live by her own whims.

Who cannot allow herself to live basked in unconditional love, still.

It is only fair, when the only love she has ever sought has only devastated all those around.

It is only fair, in the most unfair of ways that Lucette has chosen as punishment.

The petals are dry when they graze her lips.

Lowering her hand, Lucette is gentle as she presses her lips to the ring with closed eyes.

A single, delicate kiss is all she allows herself to give. Is all she allows herself to imagine and want and _remember_.

Her heart twists in a familiar ache, in a way that sends her to sleep every night, alone.

This time, Lucette lets it hurt, relishes in it instead of pushing it away.

It will be the last time, after all.

The sun casts fractures of splintered light over Lucette as she slowly removes her hand.

It follows her, a silent company as Lucette turns and walks towards her shelf, where a worn black mask sits alone, unaccompanied by even a book or doll.

Removing the ring, Lucette places it next to the mask. Hand lingering, hovering over the objects.

Hidden from the sunlight, but catching specks of reflected shine all the same, they appear lifeless, still.

But the light spins itself in her smile, in the one instant her eyes glaze over with tears. It is a soft, awning glow, too bright, too heartbreaking, to be anything but helpless, unconditional love.

"Goodbye." Lucette murmurs.

No one but herself hears the solemn word.

No one but herself needs to.

There is only salvation for herself with this selfish phrase.

But even still, Lucette cannot find forgiveness in her hollowed words.

Not when it is undeserved to her, like happiness is.

A loud clang of the church bell resounds throughout the town, loud enough that it reaches even the castle.

Lucette turns towards the door. Her father would be here at any moment now, to escort her to the grand hall.

Sunlight floods the room with a warmth and brilliance Lucette cannot feel as she walks across it to the door. She catches herself in both light and shadow, but stops in neither long enough to allow it to hold her.

Her fingers hurt with chilled cold, her palms burn with a conviction she must uphold.

Now, no longer a girl, older and wiser in all the ways that mean nothing to her, as she leaves the side of someone she once called home, Lucette will leave all of her self behind with him.

Hearing the incoming footsteps, Lucette doesn't bother hiding the hollow smile at the realisation of another lie told.

She already had, hadn't she? All those years ago in that winding catacomb.

There are no pebbles to lead her back home this time.

Lucette wonders if that means her self would be lost forever, never to be found.

Eyes sliding half closed, Lucette thinks that's fine.

There's no one left to play seeker anyway.

But she'll remember what once was, what once could be, every time the sun kisses her skin, every time the moon lulls her to sleep.

A bitter ache starts a rhythm in Lucette's heart, a painful sting behind her eyes.

It will be enough, for the shards of her that remains.

For the shards of her that will soon dissolve and fade away.

There is no reason to bring the once-gold flowers with her anymore, dirtied and torn as they were.

Not when her happiness has already left her, bloodied and broken as he was.

The door creaks open, and Lucette takes a bold step out.

The sun tangles in the gold of her dress and necklace, her hair and smile. Lucette Riella Britton, Queen of Angielle, steps into the sunlight and feels nothing but the cold of her fingers.

As it should be, and as it always will.

The door swings shut behind her, and Lucette does not look back.

That day, as Angielle earns a king, Lucette lost a princess.

But with the memories of a warmer light, a gentler touch still lingering on the queen, Lucette thinks it never will be alright, but it will be enough.

It will be enough.

And maybe this time, the continuous repetition will turn to truth.

 

( _bad end._ _)_

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the end of 'moonlight is but reflected sun' verse ! I might write other drabbles concerning it (and expand on Direye. maybe. idk.), but the main plot is to be seen as completed. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this experience !


End file.
